


Infirmitas & Consolatio

by CCNSurvivor



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: "Enemies" to lovers, Alternative Meeting, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, quarantine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23908801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CCNSurvivor/pseuds/CCNSurvivor
Summary: As a disease sweeps the continent, Zelda finds herself in lockdown in New Orleans. Unintentional exposure to the virus  forces her into quarantine with a certain headstrong Mambo and her congregation. To make it out alive and to protect those they love, they are going to have to find a way to work together.
Relationships: Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina) & Zelda Spellman, Marie LaFleur (Chilling Adventures of Sabrina)/Zelda Spellman, Marie LaFleur/Zelda Spellman
Comments: 45
Kudos: 69
Collections: And They Were Quarantinemates





	1. Prologue

Zelda Spellman had awoken to a vast and cloudless sky stretching across the calm waters of the Mississippi, painted brightly in swirls of orange and pink. She had thrown open her balcony doors and taken the first cigarette of the day still in her robe, the cool breeze of a fresh morning playfully whispering around her. The calm before the storm, or so it had felt. All the streets of the usually bustling French Quarter deserted, glistening eerily underneath the first rays of the sun. There was something powerful about the dawning of a new day, Zelda had always thought, and a humbleness to being the sole witness. She lingered for a little while longer, breathing in and out, permitting her own magicks to flurry and slowly settle. A private ritual whose origin she could not recall.  
  
Finally, it was hunger that forced her to move, a deep seated craving to sink her teeth into something sticky and sweet and utterly decadent. As a smile lit up her face, she turned her back to the empty streets of New Orleans and descended into the bottom half of the house, her stride only arrested by something fluttering in through the letterbox. She swept it up with one hand and proceeded into the kitchen, fingers automatically working the coffee machine while her eyes skimmed over the envelope. No-nonsense, official looking lettering. Government address. She rolled her eyes and momentarily tossed the offending item away onto the table. It hardly took witchcraft to divine the information enclosed within. Whatever the president had to say it could surely wait a few more minutes.  
  
She slipped four slices of bread into the toaster and fetched a selection of jam jars out of the fridge. The news had been full of dreadful fear-mongering lately. Apparently some disease was sweeping the European continent and it would only be a matter of time before it arrived in America. Mortals beware! She tutted into the silence, poured her coffee and sat down at the small kitchen table, eager to start lathering her toast with delicious jam.  
  
If there was one thing Zelda possessed it was a kind of robustness in dealing with crises. She had personally witnessed the outbreak of the Spanish flu, had even interrupted her midwifery training decades beforehand to nurse the sick. Her niece would have scolded her had she heard her dismiss mortal lives, and it was true that in recent years Zelda had come to admire the tenacity some of them had shown, but examining matters with a realistic eye meant acknowledging that most of them were much too feeble and not at all build to withstand serious attack. Better then to only be concerned with the fate of witches and warlocks. For any disease potent enough to endanger them was a serious threat to be sure.  
  
Turning her thoughts to sweeter things, she bit heartily into her toast, taking great pleasure in the gluttonous delight, and her fingers only absent-mindedly tugged at the envelope that still lay across from her. She tore it open with some impatience now, leaving stains and fingerprints all over it. Her eyes slid from left to right. It didn’t take her more than a couple of seconds to get the gist. The pandemic had reached the continent, the city was about to go into lockdown and all inhabitants were urged to stay indoors. Penalties and fines awaited those that proved uncompliant.  
  
While she had no intention of heeding the warnings of the government, she also did not want to suffer the inconvenience of being stopped and questioned. So she knew that she had to be careful when choosing her time to go out. Perhaps now with the sun barely rising in the sky would be ideal. And indeed it seemed initially that she was to remain correct.

The streets were wonderfully empty as she began her ramble, strolling about at her own leisure, armed only with sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat. She had come to adore the mild air, and the tangy scent from the river that mingled with it, as much as the architecture, the finely crafted balconies, the waterfall of plants and greenery that cascaded down from every building. Like an oasis full of life, a blessed place of respite.  
  
She had been walking for the better half of an hour when hurried footsteps proved too late a warning and a small body collided with hers.  
  
“Do watch where you’re going,” she reprimanded automatically and sought to pry the child away, fingers immediately rubbing the sore spots near her hips.  
  
“Maybe if you wore a smaller hat you’d have seen me.”  
  
He had a light dusting of short cropped hair on his dark head and his teeth shone brightly with every word of resistance he spoke. Zelda clicked her tongue and mustered him sternly over the rim of her sunglasses; a tried and tested warning that did little to intimidate him. His small feet were shoved into sandals so threadbare he might as well have been walking bare-foot, and although the rest of his appearance was clean, she got the distinct impression that he was used to housing in relatively poor conditions.  
  
“You oughtn’t to be out at all, young man.”  
  
“Neither are you,” he shrugged, nonetheless scanning the street they were on for any sign of police. “But I guess our rules don’t apply to you, huh?”  
  
Zelda’s mouth pinched shut, any dignified rebuttal dying with immediacy in her throat. Sometimes the truth flourished best between beats of silence. Still, she gently caught his wrist, stopping him from escaping.  
  
“Whatever our differences, young man, I must implore you to go home. It isn’t safe out here.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter. I gotta find the Mambo.”  
  
He started walking again and with such sudden strength that she found herself pulled along.  
  
“The Mambo?” She saw him open his mouth, undoubtedly to offer another wisecrack and quickly added, “Why do you need a Vodouisant?”  
  
A quick flash of approval passed through his eyes, leaving her to feel far more pleased than she ought to have been.  
  
“Because she can implore the spirits not to take my uncle.” His chin trembled but his eyes remained clear and focused, showing a strength and tenacity which could only be admired.  
  
“Then we must hurry.”  
  
“We?” he frowned, stopping only briefly to look her up and down quizzically. “How would _you_ know where to find her?”  
  
A valid question and yet one she wasn’t going to allow to get in her way. “I don’t. But there will be traces of her…energy…in the air that I can detect.”  
  
She failed to mention that the last time she had attempted such a thing had been at Queen Victoria’s coronation when her sister had wandered off and disappeared. Still, the boy seemed to pick up on it and studied her with doubtfully drawn together brows.  
  
“You’re a witch?”  
  
Zelda raised her own brows in challenge. “Is that so hard to believe?”  
  
His dark eyes drifted over her face, clung to her hat, her glasses, her finely made dress. “Yeah.”  
  
Had he been anything but a child she would have withdrawn her offer for the audacity of his statement alone, but as it was, they were stuck in a stalemate.  
  
“Shall we quit dawdling and locate this Mambo?”  
  
She set off down the street with her head held high, trusting that he would follow her. Her senses expanded carefully beyond the structures that surrounded her, past bricks and mortar and earth and air.  
  
_Please Hecate, aid me now_ , she thought when her magick quivered and met resistance.  
  
A moon cycle had just reached its end and her own energy was fragile and delicate in consequence. She tried to visualise the morning air, the view from the balcony, the vast, open sky. Reaching. The boy’s footsteps echoed faintly behind her and he did not interrupt, no matter how many minutes ticked by; perhaps too focused on keeping watch. She could scarcely tell herself how much time had passed or how many deserted streets they had zigzagged through until she finally perceived a burst of magick so different from her own. Colourful, rich, emanating like an aura from inside an unseemly looking house.  
  
“She is here.”  
  
He strode past her until he stood precariously balancing on the doorstep. “You’re sure?”  
  
“Quite.”  
  
His body rocked back and forth, momentarily caught in nervous anticipation. Then he lifted his hand up and knocked. Several seconds went by until they finally heard approaching footsteps and the creaking of a lock. A moment later the door was pulled open and a woman appeared dressed in a morning robe of silk that looked as though all the colours in the universe had deemed it their canvas. It cascaded down her body like a waterfall, hugging her waist and long legs and creating a marvellous contrast to her dark, intelligent eyes which immediately travelled between Zelda and the boy and back again.  
  
“What a curious tableau so early in the morning. How can I help you, Leroy?”  
  
“Y-you remember me?” the boy asked stunned and Zelda slowly turned her attention away from the woman’s wild, unruly hair.  
  
“Have you come here to insult me or ask for help? Do I look so ancient, _gason_ , that I’d forget?” Her lips curved upwards into a mischievous smile and small, becoming grooves of merriment appeared next to her eyes.  
  
Catching on to her playfulness the child bravely argued, “Some say you’re over a thousand years old!”  
  
Slowly, the Mambo sank down into a crouch. Her voice was but a whisper when she spoke, her gaze had turned serious. “Do you know that I keep the tongues of liars in a jar on my nightstand?”  
  
Zelda’s lips twitched in barely contained amusement which nearly spilled over into a chuckle at the boy’s next question.  
  
“Why the nightstand?”  
  
The Mambo rolled her eyes, brushed her knuckles along the boy’s cheek and straightened once more. “In case I get hungry, eh? Now come in.” She placed her palm on the small of his back to usher him forward while her eyes landed on Zelda who had just begun to turn away. “You too, High Priestess Zelda Spellman.”  
  
She looked back at her, one elegant eyebrow drawn up into a query.  
  
“Curiosity is not a sin so-“ The Mambo made a sweeping gesture with her hand and clicked her tongue. “After you?”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda finds herself further swept up in Leroy's life and discovers only too late what danger she is getting herself into.

Zelda peered into the darkness of the building before meeting the Mambo’s eyes once more. “I do not hold such cheap tactics in high esteem, Madame. Being outspoken is much more preferable.” She began to walk past her with confident steps but paused as she drew level. “Provided, of course, one possesses enough backbone and isn’t forced to rely on smoke and mirrors for effect.”   
  
“ _Kreyol pale, kreyol komprann,_ eh _?_ ” The other woman replied with a playful twinkle in her eyes. “I get it. But a little mystery is always enticing, isn’t it?” She did not wait for Zelda to answer but placed a warm hand on the small of her back. “Please, after you.”   
  
Her muscles coiled, rejecting the unwanted touch. Still, it was with a rigid kind of grace that she marched herself into the house. Anticipating a sitting room or perhaps at the very least a semblance of domestic life, she was surprised to find that she had entered a shop instead. Every inch of the space was occupied by something. Colourful ribbons, jewellery, dried plants, ominous rabbit feet and other animal offerings were draped across surfaces or dangling from the ceiling and low into one’s face, like a curtain, separating one world from the next.   
  
Zelda paused to take off her hat which was catching on a particularly vibrant necklace of lapis lazuli and reached through the twilight to run the beads through her fingers. They prickled pleasantly against her skin like a small surge of energy that ignited at her fingertips, her wrist, before bursting into her bloodstream. Her eyebrows rose in mild surprise but drew together a moment later when she heard the Mambo’s knowing hum behind her.   
  
“How ordinary,” she scoffed and released the beads at once. “Now, where has that boy gone to?”   
  
Leaving her side, the Mambo moved deftly through the dimly lit space. “Your uncle, he is sick, _n'est-ce pas_?”   
  
“He says Papa Legba is calling to him. He is preparing him to travel to Guinee.”   
  
Zelda moved another chain of jewellery out of the way and finally saw that the child had taken refuge on the stairs that were tucked away at the very back of the room. His small figure was hunched and reverent before her, yet there was a warmth and intimacy to their exchange that struck something frail within her.   
  
“If Papa Legba is preparing him for the crossroads, Leroy, it might be his time. I can plead with the spirits in your stead, but I cannot command them.”   
  
“I know,” he said bravely, although his voice quivered. “But he would want you there. The priest won’t-“   
  
The Mambo stopped him by holding up her hand. “What are his symptoms? Describe them to me as I ready myself.”   
  
She slipped past him and up to the next floor, and Zelda automatically drew closer until she stood waiting at the foot of the stairs. Leroy briefly glanced at her, his eyes bright with curiosity, but he did not comment.   
  
“He’s tired but he can’t sleep. He is coughing all the time. He can’t breathe.”   
  
“Is there blood?”   
  
Zelda set one foot on the stairs to peer into the upper floor where daylight appeared to be streaming in through large windows, illuminating everything with greater efficiency than downstairs. She could only make out the base of a sofa and a collection of dust underneath, as the rest of the space was cut off from view by a large scarf that was draped from one side to the other. But she could hear the Mambo move, could hear a whisper of fabric as she seemed to shed garments.  
  
“Yes,” Leroy called up to her, “but only if he doesn’t think I’m watching.”  
  
A beat of silence followed and then the scarf was swept to one side and the Mambo strode into view. She had exchanged her robe for a long, ochre-coloured skirt and a white blouse that did little to hide the lower half of her torso. Her hair had been tamed somewhat and was now held in place by a red head wrap, giving her a much more commanding air than initial impressions had led her to believe.   
  
Zelda swiftly moved away from the step and turned her gaze towards the items that were on display behind the counter. She hardly made it a habit to censor herself, but she was loathe to give the other woman more cause to believe that she was even remotely interested in any of this.   
  
“His temperature?”   
  
She heard the hectic thudding of their footsteps behind her yet carried on with affected disinterest.   
  
“Hot and cold. It keeps changing.”   
  
“Mmh mmh,” the Mambo hummed and a moment later passed her to reach for a container with dried herbs, mounted on one of the many shelves that lined the wall behind the counter.   
  
“Is he really in trouble?”   
  
Zelda watched her pull out a box of charms now, followed by a jar of powdery substance which she scooped into a smaller vial with utmost patience. Her approach was calm and measured, but as she tilted her head from side to side, the muscles in her neck were visibly tightened and tense. It looked as though she was inviting the counsel of an unseen force and deliberating how best to convey the message. At last she thrust the items into a satchel she had looped around her shoulder and turned to face the boy.   
  
“Let us not waste time on speculation. I will tend to him, and we will see how the spirits decide.”  
  
“In that case, I will see myself out,” Zelda intersected, already moving towards the front door.   
  
“Have the spirits already spoken to _you_?”   
  
The question smacked like an insult against the shell of her ear, tainted with doubt as it was. A provocation lay smouldering in the depth of those dark eyes, and in the crackling silence Zelda heard the challenge plainly. _Are you a coward to walk away now?  
  
_ “I do not answer the call of those things you call spirits,” she offered simply in return; sweet politeness wrapped in barbs. “And I do not waste my time managing mortal affairs. Why should I?”  
  
“I don’t know, Zelda Spellman. Why _did_ you choose to help Leroy today?”   
  
Her eyes slowly drifted to the boy who remained frozen at the very foot of the stairs, glancing between them with equal measures of confusion and annoyance, of desperate fear and unbridled hope. And she thought of the sweeping staircase at the Mortuary, of the crossroads of steps. Of a shrilling door bell, of Faustus. Of sombre faces and carefully picked words. Condolences that reverberated empty like a jumble of letters of a foreign tongue in her head.   
  
_He was a decent man. A good High Priest.  
  
He was my brother!_   
  
Of her own wails spilling out of Hilda’s throat. Of Sabrina’s. Of tiny grasping, searching hands. Of the crushing weight of responsibility and the wild, screaming desire for someone – anyone – to tether her. To be led instead of having to lead.   
  
“He needed help finding the way.”   
  
The Mambo bridged the gap between them and in a quieter, beseeching tone said, “And he still does. Our instincts rarely lie.” She pulled the front door open and immediately bathed Zelda in a rich cone of light.   
  
“Uncle is never going to allow an outsider to interfere.”   
  
“Well, he is hardly in a position to argue,” Zelda scoffed, marching herself outside and putting her hat back on with a flourish.   
  
The Mambo briefly looked after her, clicked her tongue impatiently and then ushered Leroy out of the shop too.   
  
“Perhaps this will be a lesson for us all, yes? To not deny help, no matter what form it assumes, when we most need it?”   
  
Leroy hung his head like a chastised toddler and silently trotted after her down the street. To her surprise, Zelda found herself following them, albeit at some distance. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she, too, had been included in the lecture but couldn’t bring herself to be appalled enough to abandon their company and return to her flat.   
  
“You know, Madame, it would be courteous at least to introduce oneself?” Zelda said, catching up to them with three swift strides. “Or is your name to remain yet another great mystery?”   
  
Unaffected by the mocking undertone, the Mambo offered her a smile. “My name is Marie LeFleur. But you can call me _Gran Met_.”   
  
There was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes now that irked her greatly, and behind her sunglasses her eyes narrowed. “I most assuredly will not.”   
  
But there was something to be said for Mambo Marie’s flippant conduct, the way nothing seemed to upset or rattle her, and Zelda fleetingly wondered whether this was a genuine representation of her internal world or an effective façade for the benefit of the child. Either way, she could not deny the glimmer of admiration this sparked within her, for to her, this was the mark of an adequate leader.   
  
They walked together through the deserted streets of New Orleans, not once encountering another soul or any sign of police resistance, as though their path had been cleared by magic. The further they went, the more the scene around them shifted. Houses that had been standing shoulder to shoulder now were separated by patches of land. Lavish town houses had shrunk into bungalows, and metal and stone facades had been replaced by wooden ones so weather-worn, paint was chipping off from every board. The air around them was tick with salt as though the earth around them had recently been soaked by sea water.   
  
Finding it increasingly difficult to navigate around potholes, Zelda took turns glancing at her feet and the road ahead. Nothing could mar her haughty swagger, and yet inwardly she was beginning to feel rather unbalanced, as though the mere act of crossing from one ward into the next had stolen her power. Everything required more focus. And their presence had not gone unnoticed either. In lieu of a police patrol, people were starting to flock to their yards, standing at their fences to observe from a respectable distance the arrival of the Mambo.   
  
Not one to usually shrink underneath the scrutiny of attention, Zelda nonetheless found herself growing restless. It was difficult to discern the emotions behind the carefully schooled expressions, but there were glimpses of something there, tucked away in lines of skin or curves of mouths, that made her feel decidedly unwelcome. If Marie noticed, she did not let it show and continued to greet everyone with the same bright demeanour until a young woman rushed towards them. She was wrapped in white linen clothes from head to toe, her long, dark hair which was parted at the top into free-flowing patterns of cornrows hanging loosely over one shoulder.   
  
“What the hell do you think you’re doing running off like that?” she unleashed upon Leroy before checking herself and offering an apologetic smile to Marie. “My Mambo, we are honoured by your visit.”   
  
“I was getting help! Father Douwry didn’t want to come, but I knew _she_ would.”   
  
“Because you gave her no choice, I’m sure. Uncle had me try out a location charm just to find you, and you know how strict his rules are.”   
  
“You allow mortals and witches to mingle in your congregation?”   
  
Sharply, Marie lifted up her hand to silence them all. “ _Tanpri_. Let us move inside the house. Yes?” She started forward without hesitation and blindly relied on them following suit. “Your cousin has been very polite, Kessie. Go easy on him. He is frightened.”   
  
Zelda stole a glance over her shoulder and looked into the eyes of their curious audience and then snatched sunglasses and hat away and entered the house. The inside was dark and bare, and filled with thick air that drifted like a lazy breeze through the rooms. Every so often a rattling breath emerged from the space at the very rear of the building. The echo of its shuddering exhalations gripped her shoulders like the claws of fear and pulled something taught inside her stomach. A desire to run swelled within her, but her sense of propriety prohibited any such embarrassment.   
  
“Leroy tells me your uncle has been visited by Papa Legba. Have you seen Him too?”   
  
“No, Mambo. He would not show Himself to me.”   
  
Marie nodded and set down her satchel. From inside its depths she procured the jar with powdery substance, a sprig of sage and several clothes of mauve coloured fabric. “Then we will see if he speaks to me. Zelda?”   
  
Surprised to find herself addressed so intimately, she turned. It was only the undeniable pleasure it gave her to hear the consonants of her name smoothed and softened on the other’s tongue that stopped her from offering up a stern correction.   
  
“You will wait here with Leroy and Kessie, _non_?”   
  
“I hardly see why,” she answered, spreading her hands, yet failing once more to diminish the other’s smile.   
  
“The Iwa will reveal their reasons when they are ready.”   
  
And with that she departed into the backroom, leaving Zelda alone with two curious faces staring up at her.   
  
“Well, don’t look at me,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Your guess is as good as mine.”   
  
She moved hat and glasses to her left hand and used the other to dig in her pocket for a cigarette as she walked towards the front door again. The street was completely deserted when she stepped out into the yard, and she embraced the few moments of stillness to gather her thoughts. It was strange and disconcerting to consider the events in which she had become swept up; quite unlike her to be impulsive and unquestioning. But Hecate was hardly called the Goddess of crossroads for no reason, and Zelda was learning to read her hidden signs. She sighed, savouring the flavour of her particular blend of cigarette before blowing white smoke out into the air. Waiting was hardly her forte, but if Hecate thought it worthwhile then she would oblige.  
  
When she turned to go back inside, Kessie passed her by, a look full of curiosity in her eyes. Zelda presumed that it was her trust in her Mambo’s decisions that stopped her from asking any questions, and she was glad to have been spared the tedious task of answering them. Faintly, Marie’s voice was drifting towards her from the bedroom at the back, growing gradually in strength and volume. A prayer akin to a chant or an invocation. Exuberant and searching, shattering almost and because of this utterly foreign to Zelda who was accustomed to quiet devotion, shame and penance. However much things had changed since she had turned her back to the Dark Lord, she could never imagine being so open and…noisy.   
  
“I do not understand what she is saying,” Zelda said, coaxing Leroy away from his vigil by the door, “or doing for that matter.”   
  
“She is calling to the Iwa of the Gede, asking for guidance, giving offerings of good will.” He paused and listened. “And they are answering, _gras a dye_.”   
  
“It would appear you were right to seek her out.”   
  
“You really think so?” Leroy asked, his eyes familiar in their brightness and hope. How long had it been since Sabrina had looked at her like this?   
  
“I do.”   
  
A small sound escaped him then, barely loud enough to be a sob, but the hand that stole into hers was palpably trembling. She squeezed it reassuringly but did not meet those bright eyes again, holding the space in silence until the chanting, too, faded into nothingness. The structure of the house still rippled faintly with the potency of Vodou magic when Zelda released him again and turned away to leave.   
  
“I will collect your cousin and then I will be on my way.”   
  
She marched herself out into the yard before he could argue and just caught a flash of red and white as a stained handkerchief hastily disappeared into a pocket. She froze, anger and panic washing over her in equal measure as the ramifications of her discovery sunk in.   
  
“You are infected.”   
  
The young woman looked at her with an unconvincingly quizzical expression. “What are you talking about?”   
  
“The virus,” Zelda emphasised angrily, “the disease that is killing your uncle, that is killing all those mortals in the news. You have it too. I saw the blood. Please at least possess the dignity not to lie now.”   
  
“We are done talking about this,” Kessie stubbornly maintained, attempting to slip past her but Zelda caught her harshly by the arm and held her arrested. “Oh no, Missy. We are not. Don’t you realise what you have done?”   
  
In the distance, just across the street, a door opened and footsteps resounded, not quite drawing close, but lingering like a warning. And behind windows everywhere, curious face appeared once more. Bolstered by their presence, Kessie tried pulling her arm away again.   
  
“Let me go.”  
  
“So you can prance about infecting others? I think not.”   
  
“Enough!” Marie’s tall figure emerged from the dark and towered over both of them in the doorway. Her eyes burned when they fell on the vice grip Zelda still had on the girl’s arm. “What is the meaning of this?”   
  
“Oh, I will gladly tell you,” she bristled, matching her anger with ease. “Your careless attitude is going to get everyone killed! This girl is carrying the disease, but she is so caught up in her worship of you that she did not tell you, in fear of failing to retain your admiration. This…this nonsense-“ She paused, at last relinquishing her hold to make a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Love thy neighbour or whatever other ridiculous notions your frivolous faith-“   
  
“ _Ça suffit!_ If you cannot address me respectfully, I ask that you do not address me at all.”   
  
Zelda’s lips pinched shut, locking her anger within her mouth where twisted, ugly words continued to grow. Her face registered a look of shock.   
  
“You are upset.”   
  
That made her exhale sharply through her nostrils, the action dispersing the heat of her emotions and making space for something else. Something more…controlled.   
  
“She is a witch and she is sick,” she continued in quieter but no less urgent tones. “And she has exposed everyone in the vicinity to the disease. You could fall ill, _I_ could fall ill, and then two covens would be left vulnerable without their leader. How will I return to my family now? How could I ever dare to expose them the way you have exp-“   
  
“You can’t,” Marie intersected gently, and the calm of her voice was surprising after its earlier coolness. “None of us can risk going anywhere.” She took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on the horizon. “We must place everyone in quarantine and pray to Bondye that we will emerge stronger than before.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Kreyol pale, kreyol komprann - speak creole, understand creole - get straight to the point/don't complicate things  
> \- Papa Legba - Iwa and acts as intermediary between humanity and spirit world, denies or permits communication with the spirits of Guinee   
> \- Zelda would like to think she is not impulsive, but we have often see her act otherwise  
> \- gras a dye - thank God   
> \- thank you for taking the time to leave comments and/or kudos, I promise there will be some Zarie bonding in   
>  the next chapter, but there's also a lot of complexity going on that I'm trying to include  
> \- as always, I would love to hear your thoughts :)


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And what are you going to do alone, Zelda? You are a woman of action. Do not deny yourself your instinct to help. There is no shame in it.”
> 
> “I am hardly ashamed,” Zelda tutted, using the wide brim of her hat to avoid direct eye contact. “Merely unsurprised that a gesture of goodwill would be so hastily discarded.”

“Kessie,” Marie began again, snatching her eyes away from the horizon, “you will know the progression of the virus better than anyone, except perhaps Uncle Jonah who is in no condition to talk to us.”

The young woman had retreated into the shadow of the doorway, distancing herself from Zelda and the prying eyes of her neighbours. She stood, a good head smaller than her High Priestess, her chin tilted upwards in defiance. The curve of her shoulders, however, betrayed the existence of worry.  
  
“Somebody had to care for Uncle. If I had told you sooner I might have been removed, and then who would have been there to look after Leroy?”  
  
Marie took her hand in hers and regarded her with a kindness that felt entirely out of place for Zelda.  
  
“ _Wi_ , _tifi_ , you meant to protect. But as _Vodouisant_ it is your duty to consider the protection of everyone, _n'est-ce pas_?”  
  
Kessie opened her mouth once more, undoubtedly to offer further justification, but was cut off by a gentle shake of the head.  
  
“Describe the progression of symptoms to me, so I can be on my way. Was it as announced on the news for you and for your uncle?”  
  
“Unlikely,” Zelda offered alongside a scoff. “They enjoy nothing more than pulling the wool over our eyes.”  
  
Marie acknowledged her with a nod, but kept her eyes trained on her mentee.  
  
“It starts in your bones, like a deep feeling of fatigue. Then a couple of days later the chill starts and the fever. Your throat feels thick and swollen, you’re drained. But then it goes away, as if you’ve never been ill to begin with. So you think it was just a cold or something.” She swallowed and tugged on a thick strand of her hair. “But then you get the cough and the blood.”  
  
“Has your uncle been coughing long?”  
  
“For several days now. I don’t know what happens next.”  
  
“ _Bon_ , that gives us time to prepare.”  
  
“It is hardly scientific evidence,” Zelda muttered and put her hat back into place to shield her skin from the ever more bold-growing rays of the sun.  
  
“And yet more truthful than any other information we can hope to find. You said so yourself, did you not?”  
  
There was something not altogether unpleasant about that clever tongue, those carefully selected challenges, Zelda realised, but firmly decided not to linger on. And so she demurred but not without allowing herself a dramatic roll of the eyes.  
  
“ _En ben_. Now it is high time I depart. I must seek out the others and warn them to remain indoors.”  
  
“Will they not listen to the government’s instructions?”  
  
A shadow of a smile passed over Marie’s features. “Some of them do not have the luxury to. But it is important that the magical community hear the whole truth and heed my warning.”  
  
“Then I will help you deliver it,” Zelda heard herself saying, following an impulse she could not explain. A justification was attempted nonetheless. “Surely two witches can cover more ground than one, and time is of the essence no matter how long this disease might take to spread.”  
  
“I appreciate your offer, Zelda,” Marie replied earnestly, taking her hand now as she had done Kessie’s before, “but I fear Leroy was right. Your presence is not welcome yet, and news of your temper will have spread fast.”  
  
“I see.” She pulled back her hand and settled it against her stomach in which shame rolled with age-old ease. “Then there is no purpose for me to linger. I shall return to my flat to convalesce and leave you to guide your flock.”  
  
A raised brow was enough to wipe away the mockery of her last remark, and Marie was quick to follow up. “And what are you going to do alone, Zelda? You are a woman of action. Do not deny yourself your instinct to help. There is no shame in it.”  
  
“I am hardly ashamed,” Zelda tutted, using the wide brim of her hat to avoid direct eye contact. “Merely unsurprised that a gesture of goodwill would be so hastily discarded.”  
  
“And if you do fall sick? Who will nurse you? You are not unreasonable either, so please do not let us go around in circles. It will best for all of us if we stay here. Provided we are welcome in your home, Kessie?”  
  
The girl looked between them, shock badly disguised behind a polite smile. “Of course, my Mambo. Uncle would be honoured to have you reside in his house.”  
  
“Then it is agreed,” Marie concluded happily, rubbing her hands together. For a moment it looked as though she considered touching Zelda’s elbow in passing. But something made her think better of it. “We will find your role, _sè_. In the meantime, the protection of your Goddess will be appreciated.”  
  
Struck by an unfamiliar feeling of awe, Zelda looked after her as she walked out into the street and disappeared from sight. The moment passed if not unseen, for when she caught herself she found Kessie observing her expectantly, an expression which darkened when Zelda merely returned it with a quizzical rise of one eyebrow. Silence pulled the tension tight between them until Zelda broke out of the moment and walked back inside the house. She located Leroy in front of his uncle’s room again and took him to one side.  
  
“Mambo Marie has left to reinforce quarantine.”  
  
“I heard,” he replied simply, but disappointment lay heavily in his eyes, suggesting that he had observed what had preceded it too. Every so often there was a maturity to him that could hardly be contained by the smallness of his body. Emotional growth at odds with his age.  
  
She straightened automatically, desperate to create distance while words jumbled in her throat. There was no need to defend her actions, her temper, and yet she felt she had failed him somehow.  
  
“Is there a garden at the back of the house that I might use?”  
  
“There’s a yard down the corridor,” he answered, drawing up his slender shoulders.  
  
She saw that he was looking to ask more and purposefully turned to face away from him, following instead the direction his chin had jerked and towards the backyard. The door was thankfully unlocked, allowing her to slip out of the house without needing to consult him again.  
  
The air outside was starting to thicken and grow tense and the promise of a storm lingered stickily in the stale breeze. Zelda strode a few paces through the mud crusted space and sank onto her knees in the open, as far away from the sole tree as she could. She was grateful for the high wooden fences that shielded her from the neighbouring houses.  
  
“Oh Hecate, Goddess of Crossroads, Divine Mother of Ages. I seek thy guidance today and evermore.” The words were spoken with quiet reverence and accompanied by the drawing of three moons in the earth. “I have followed my instincts down this path and even now I feel I must remain. And yet I wonder why. What is my purpose, Hecate?” She bowed her head, praying that her poor wavering magic was enough to appease. “Am I to guard the boy, oh Mother of Mothers? I beg you to give me a sign.”  
  
The complexity of the situation she found herself in washed over her like a tidal wave of dread and when it had passed she sought to locate a breath in the depth of her body. She closed her senses to everything else, to the gentle creaking of branches, to the warm, penetrating light, to the smell of salt and soil until she had retreated so deeply that she could hold the breath with both her palms and guide it up past pinched lips. With every carefully cradled breath, she could feel her energies uncoil and liberate, returning the power to her that she once feared to have lost.  
  
“Who are you talking to?” She didn’t hear him the first time but gradually felt the vibrations of his footsteps. “Are you having a heat stroke or something?”  
  
She reached back to touch her neck and was surprised to find that perspiration had accumulated there.  
  
“Thank you for your concern, Leroy, but I was merely praying.” She adjusted her hat to better protect her skin and rose while dusting off her knees.  
  
“You’re no _Vodouisant_ ,” the boy remarked, making no attempt to hide his scepticism. He slunk away from her again and settled in the shade of the tree, his legs outstretched in front of him.  
  
“Indeed I am not, and yet I pray.”  
  
“But not to God or Bondye either?”  
  
“No.” Her dislike for the figure was vastly apparent, but Leroy did not seem to mind. “To the Goddess Hecate.”  
  
He studied her for a moment but with what intention she could not say, his eyes squinting against the bright light. “What is she meant to do then?”  
  
Zelda briefly considered his question while drawing closer to the tree. How fitting, she thought, to pass on knowledge above its ancient roots.  
  
“You know, my niece once asked me precisely that question when she was little.”  
  
 _Why do we pray to the Dark Lord, Auntie Zee?  
  
A flash of blonde pigtails; innocent, inquiring eyes.  
  
_“And what did you say to her?”  
  
 _Because He grants us our power and protects us.  
  
Did mommy and daddy not pray hard enough?  
  
A sting of something sharp in her eyes.  
  
Why are you crying?   
  
The heavy weight of toddler arms wrapping around her waist.  
  
No, Sabrina, they did pray. But the Dark Lord had other plans for them.  
  
_“I told her what I believed to be the truth at the time.”  
  
“And now?” he patted the ground next to him, beckoning her to sit.  
  
“Now I would say that perhaps they are there to protect us, but that we oughtn’t to underestimate how much we can protect ourselves as a community.”  
  
“You sound like the Mambo,” Leroy remarked, rolling his eyes.  
  
“And suddenly that is something bad, young man?”  
  
He sought out her face to see if he was due another lecture but found nothing more than amusement edged into her features.  
  
“Just trying to keep an open mind.” His grin was toothy and broad.  
  
They lapsed into a comfortable silence then and enjoyed the warmth of the day from the covers of leaves and branches.  
  
“Perhaps you could enlighten me too?” Zelda suggested eventually.  
  
“Does that mean _you’ve_ enlightened _me_?”  
  
“There is no need for such cheek, my dear.”  
  
“Where’d the fun be then?” he grinned. “So what do you wanna know?”  
  
“I would like to understand the path Kessie has been on. You are mortal, your uncle is mortal, yet she is a witch. Does witchcraft run in your family elsewhere? Your parents, perhaps?”  
  
“We come from Africa. My ancestors and so, of course, me too. And when you are from Africa, you _are_ magic. Then we were moved to Haiti in chains and freed ourselves.”  
  
In his eyes, the ancient continent unfurled in all its untouched splendour, and not even the vastness of an ocean could drown out the fire of his pride. She let him linger for a while and waited until he was prepared to continue.  
  
“Kessie is the only one who has answered the calling, but we all thank Bondye and the Iwa for granting us strength.”  
  
“What do you mean she has answered the calling?”  
  
“She can hear the spirits more clearly than me. And she allows them inside.” He brought a hand to his chest and rubbed it in circular motion. “It’s the sign of a Mambo…with some training, I mean.”  
  
Zelda offered him a smile which he reciprocated eagerly. “You’re very proud of her, aren’t you?”  
  
“Well duh, wouldn’t you be?” His smile faltered. “Why _do_ you hate her so much?”  
  
“I do not hate her,” Zelda tutted, however finding herself averting her eyes. “I do not know her. But I am annoyed by her poor choices which will have far-reaching consequences.”  
  
He huffed out a sigh and for a moment or two stared at the earth. “Just don’t hurt her again. Or I’ll have to step in and protect her. And you wouldn’t want that.”  
  
Despite the childishness of his threat, she felt embarrassment bite itself into her cheeks like a blush. “You are correct, Leroy. I would not like that. I apologise if my actions scared you.”  
  
“That kinda thing doesn’t scare me anymore,” he shrugged his shoulders, and her stomach lurched.  
  
“In that case, I am even sorrier.”  
  
“Tell that to her, eh? The Mambo said you are no coward.”  
  
She took his hand then, carefully, to see if he would accept it and squeezed gently. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” he squeezed back before pushing to his feet. “I’m often told I’m bright for my age, you know?”  
  
She found herself laughing despite herself and rose a little more stiffly than he had done. “Arrogance is unbecoming in a man. I learned that very swiftly from my ex-husband.”  
  
“I-“ he hesitated and briefly eyed her up and down, “don’t know what to do with that. So let’s just head back in and get the room set up before the Mambo returns.”  
  
She had almost succeeded in pushing aside any thoughts regarding her imminent housing arrangements and groaned inwardly at the thought of having to share a space. But for the sake of peace she held her tongue.

Marie remained gone until evening but joined them for dinner, a suppressed air of anger around her. Consequently, no-one inquired further about her day, as though they had all entered a silent agreement not to pry. When dinner was concluded and the dishes were done, Marie bade Kessie to rest on the sofa and then retreated with the promise of checking in on Uncle.  
  
“Will you be comfortable sleeping on the floor?” Zelda asked Leroy before withdrawing herself, casting an eye around the small living room.  
  
“Wouldn’t be the first time. Besides, it means I get to keep an eye on Kessie.” He grabbed a number of blankets and started laying them out on the ground.  
  
“And you will call us if her condition worsens?”  
  
“Sure,” he nodded, offering her a smile that for the first time failed to convince. “What else am I gonna do?”  
  
“You’re a good boy,” she offered, hoping that it might give him courage and squeezed his shoulder before retreating to her bedroom.  
  
It was a makeshift space, really. A storage room filled to the brim with important belongings that she had painstakingly expanded by magic to house two futons on either side. She slipped with a regrettable lack of grace past the towers of miscellaneous items that they hadn’t shifted or removed and found Marie standing by the little window at the rear. She had unfurled her untameable hair from its head-wrap and transformed her skirt into a pair of comfortable-looking shorts, tempting Zelda to get lost for a beat or two in the sea of skin before her.  
  
“I take it your visits have not been satisfactory?”  
  
The Mambo stepped away and towards her own bed, leaving a halo of streetlight in her wake. “I do not understand men. They marinade in self-righteousness as though it is some hideous cologne, but act with cowardice.” Though her voice was calm, the words emerged with sharpened heat.  
  
“Does that truly come as a surprise, Madame? Most men I have witnessed in my time have been nothing short of disappointing.”  
  
That brought the by now familiar twinkle back to the other’s eye.  
  
“Perhaps we are more alike than you initially thought, Zelda. And please, do call me Marie.”  
  
She accepted the offer with a nod of courtesy and sank with a little sigh down upon her mattress. “Pray tell then, Marie, what cowardice has irked you so terribly?”   
  
She waited for the other woman to proceed before slipping out of her heels.  
  
“It is that swine of a Priest – _v regrèt_ – that Kessie mentioned.”  
  
“Father Douwry something or other?” Zelda asked and massaged the sole of her stockinged feet with both hands.  
  
“Yes, him. He leads the church services that most of the people in this neighbourhood attend every Sunday. He is their spiritual leader.”  
  
She paused briefly to look up at Marie with a frown. “I took it you were. The boy came to seek _you_ out, didn’t he?”  
  
“Matters are complicated here. Catholicism and Vodou share a long and ambivalent history.” She shifted back on her own mattress until her back came to rest against the wall, her long legs drawn up to her chest. “The two faiths merged, it is true, but not everyone is comfortable with that. Vodun was the belief of the African people-“  
  
“The slaves, yes, upon whom Catholicism was forced in Haiti and elsewhere.”  
  
Zelda found herself shifting forward, drawn into the conversation more and more.  
  
“Ah, it isn’t so simple. By saying they were forced into Catholicism, you deny them their independence, their own willpower. Of course, they did not want to abandon their faith and I am sure many of them loathed the Catholics, the white men from taking this too, but they did what they had to do to survive. And there is strength in that yet, eh?”  
  
“Perhaps,” Zelda granted, inclining her head. Secretly, she caught herself enraptured by Marie who was all passion and spirited gestures. “But you said it is complicated which leads me to believe that not everyone shares your…open minded approach?”  
  
“It is how it is everywhere,” Marie muttered, almost dismissing the sentiment with a flick of her wrist. “Purists, extremists. But the people here in this ward have grown comfortable with both. They honour their roots and acknowledge that their hearts are vast enough to hold God – Bondye – and the Iwa. So they pray in church on Sundays but they welcome me and other _Vodouisants_.”  
  
“Like Kessie?”  
  
“Yes, her potential will be regarded as a gift, a privilege.”  
  
Yet in her eyes, there lay a kind of sadness that Zelda recognised only too well.  
  
“A great responsibility.”  
  
Their eyes connected briefly and understanding passed between them, warm and comforting like a blanket on a cold night.  
  
“Leroy told me that she invites the spirits in. I must admit I am not completely certain what that means.”  
  
“The mark of a Mambo or a Houngan is spirit possession. The Iwa will take over our bodies and speak through us.”  
  
Tension stole over her body so suddenly, it momentarily robbed her of breath. Terror slid under her skin, fragile and sinister like the tinkle of a music box or the carefully rehearsed steps of a dance. The stifling staleness of the room was at once the muggy warmth of an Italian summer’s day, and all breath stammered and stalled in her chest.  
  
“Is everything alright, Zelda?”  
  
She caught the forward motion of Marie’s body, the way she checked herself before touching her. But her voice could not be grasped, it was as elusive as something feeble or slippery.  
  
“I am fine, thank you.”  
  
The hoarseness of her tone belied the sentiment, but Marie did not prod or pry. She still had not taken her hands either, and Zelda was beginning to wonder why.  
  
“I was merely thinking that our conversation seems to have digressed.”  
  
“Oh yes,” Marie laughed, “that dreadful priest.” She settled back on her mattress and in the intimate distance, Zelda slowly succeeded in taking a deep, calming breath. “He is one of those purists. Full of promises but low on execution. This whole area was nearly wiped out by a storm a few years ago. Some people have barely recovered now. We rallied together as a community to make it through while he promised them the stars and the moon. He promised he would aid them if ever there was another crisis. And where is he now?” She feigned spitting onto the ground.  
  
“The coward has left?”  
  
“ _Wi._ He had the power to organise food and supplies and medicine for his congregation but chose not to use it. Such wretched hypocrisy.”  
  
She made a sound of disgust and shook her head.  
  
“I hope you will find solace in knowing that the people will remember his short-coming.”  
  
Marie’s smile was coloured in sadness. “I hope you are right, Zelda. But sometimes poverty allows little room for choice.”  
  
“Nonsense,” she scoffed, rising to her feet. “Not when there is a capable leader fighting their cause.”  
  
She turned her back to her and began rolling down her stocking.  
  
“Are you complimenting me?”  
  
“Perhaps,” she answered vaguely, pretending not to hear Marie’s playfully teasing tone, and moved on to the other stocking.  
  
“I gladly accept, High Priestess.”  
  
Zelda scoffed out a laugh and turned to give her a scolding look, catching the precise moment in which her eyes ceased to drink in her legs. In the lingering gaze, curiosity crackled warmly and Zelda felt it smouldering like embers inside her even when she turned her back to Marie again. Buoyed by her attention, she unzipped her skirt and slid it over hips and thighs with brazen slowness, and only when she felt satisfied did she transform her white blouse into a nightgown of silk, covering all hints of flesh previously exposed.  
  
“Goodnight, Marie,” she then said primly and settled underneath the blanket.  
  
The Mambo laughed amused but followed suit, and together they silently revelled in this moment of levity amidst the impending chaos. The dim orb of light shone gently in through the window until both had succumbed to sleep, for it was not a streetlight but the flame of a lantern guiding the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tifi - girl  
> sè - sister  
> v regrèt - sorry  
> lantern - a symbol of Hecate's is a guiding lantern, it's also the halo of light as described before  
> thanks for taking the time to comment again; let me know what you think about this one :)


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Zelda checks in with Hilda and grows closer with Marie.

Zelda spent the night tossing around in fitful sleep, her dreams punctuated by rattling breath. She knew, of course, that Uncle’s terrible sounds were too frail to permeate walls, that the true source lay buried within her own memory, a good century old by now. Nonetheless, she sat up on her mattress long before the first rays of sunlight could hope to pierce the blanket of darkness and found her attention drawn to Marie. The _Vodouisant_ barely stirred in her sleep and remained curled up on her side, one hand tucked underneath her cheek. Her lips parted once or twice underneath a gentle exhalation, a steady rhythm that helped soothe her own frantic heartbeat. When she rose at last to wash and dress, she did so to flee from the dreadful unravelling of an ancient yearning that she could not bear to face. Not yet. Not quite so soon. Her recent foolishness had entailed quite enough grave consequences, and she would never again risk her coven’s safety for the sake of such pursuits.   
  
On her way to the backyard, she discovered Leroy’s sleeping form in front of Uncle’s door, limbs entangled, small and innocent. She paused and bent over to run her hand through his short-cropped hair, hoping to bring comfort to a similarly restless soul. Ambrose had been quite the same, she mused, when he had first been placed under house arrest, travelling through the Mortuary like a pilgrim who had lost his path, finally finding sleep if not peace draped over desks or curled up under large tables. To help him adjust, she had put everything in place to have the attic room refurbished, had tolerated every last of his wishes – even that dreadfully garish flag. And yet it had been under Hilda’s gentle voice, her colourful, ludicrous stories that he had fallen asleep in his own bed for the first time.   
  
The air outside was mild and balmy yet filled with friction, dense and thick, that promised another storm later on in the day. But for now it served her rather perfectly. She sank onto her knees, her gaze turned upwards to the heavens, letting it cool her flushed cheeks and aching heart. Her energies still felt frail and light but were building up a steady quality now that she knew would strengthen as the moon cycle waxed. Already she could sense it keenly at the core of her body, could hold it with both hands cupped around her stomach. The very centre of her power. It felt peculiar to think of it now like this, so fondly with the hint of a smile on her lips, when for decades and decades it had been a bitter reminder of what she lacked. The pain was still there, the deep maternal longing that drove her even now to nurture those younglings in desperate need for care. But the hollow void was no longer gaping and bare. It was her strength.   
  
In the silence of the morning she gave thanks to Hecate for making her realise, for helping her nourish her gifts and sat in stillness until the round belly of the sun peeked over the horizon. The street around her was waking up too. Car engines rumbled in the distance and music blared through opened windows. She embraced them all as best as she could and rose to her feet. When she turned, she found that Marie was watching her from the window, her chin tilted up in greeting, a small smile lighting up her face. For a second she wondered then if the _Vodouisant_ could come to find the sight of her as comforting as she had done at night, but the notion was so rash and imprudent that she hastily discarded it.   
  
With her thoughts neatly compartmentalised once more, she returned inside the house where Leroy and Kessie had set up breakfast in the living room, and were discussing how much Uncle could manage. She hovered in the doorway and listened to their mingling voices, to the clinking of plates and cups, weaving the familiar tune of domesticity.   
  
“What about pancakes?”   
  
“Uh…no? They’re not exactly nutritional.”   
  
“There’s eggs in ‘em though.”   
  
A smile tugged at her features and with some reluctance she pushed on towards the front door.   
  
“He needs broth and maybe some toast. Herbal tea if he can manage to keep it all down.”   
  
“ _Mwen pa konnen_.”   
  
“Enough with the Creole, Leroy. If you have to be obstinate say it in English or French. You’re not even Haitian.”   
  
She could hear the roll of her eyes in her voice, and saw at once before her eyes the stubborn face of her sister.   
  
“And you’re not my mother.”   
  
_Shall I fetch mother then? Would that silence your incessant bleating? Do not stick out your tongue at me, Hildegard!  
  
_ “Quieten down now, _timoun yo._ Your uncle is not awake yet. Let’s let him rest, yes?” Marie had emerged from the bedroom, and although Zelda swiftly closed her hand around the handle of the door and tried to sneak out unnoticed, her attention quickly shifted to her. “You are leaving?”   
  
Her lips twitched in amusement when Zelda whirled around while attempting to appear dignified.   
  
“Only for a little while. I must make contact with my sister and let her know that I have been indefinitely detained. And I will seize the opportunity to collect some of my clothes.”   
  
“I understand. Though I hope you do know that you are no prisoner here, yes?”   
  
Her eyes were bright with merriment and a small dose of mischief. She had not yet changed out of her night clothes nor run a brush through her hair, yet neither of these facts seemed to trouble her in the least.   
  
“Oh, it isn’t that,” Zelda replied, still aiming for an air of dignity. “It’s a simple matter of practicality. My magic alters with the moon, and I would rather not waste my strength conjuring up items that can simply be fetched.”   
  
“Of course. You are nothing if not sensible.”   
  
“And yet I cannot shake the feeling that you are mocking me, Marie.”   
  
“Only a little bit, Zelda. And only because you take to it well.”   
  
If a gaze could crackle and spark, if the meeting of eyes could convey a shared sentiment better than words, it was manifesting between them at this very moment.   
  
“Go then, do not let your sister wait.” Marie opened her left hand and from its palm unfurled a necklace and a silver charm. It was cut in the shape of an octagon and bore intricate engravings that at a brief glance resembled tridents. She pulled the chain wide with her fingers and then stepped closer. “May I?”   
  
Caught off-guard by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, Zelda nonetheless ducked her head and permitted Marie to fasten the necklace. She tried extending her senses to tap into its magical properties but found that she could locate nothing more than a gentle hum of something.   
  
“What precisely is this for?” She brushed her hair out over her shoulders and let the charm disappear between the fabric of her blouse.   
  
“Protection, granted by Eshu Bi. You will want swift passage through the city. I have prayed to Bondye to shield this neighbourhood from outside force, may the Iwa extend the same grace to you.”   
  
“Thank you. Marie.”   
  
She had always been a little clumsy in the face of kindness, a little uncertain of how to handle herself. Exposed, as though everything soft and tender that had once been tucked away was now turned inside out. Thankfully, a crashing of crockery came to her aid.   
  
“Leroy!”   
  
“I didn’t do it on purpose, alright?”   
  
Marie gave her a long-suffering look and then turned in the direction of the noise. “ _Les enfants_!”   
  
Zelda laughed, amused by the other’s fate and at last departed. She navigated the bumpy street that led from the ninth ward to the fifth with more ease than the first time. All clouds had dispersed from the sky once more, creating a slightly more stifling heat which clung to her scalp and every inch of exposed skin. The locals, however, remained unaffected. She could see elderly couples sitting out in their yard and even caught sight of children playing together in direct opposition to the government’s orders. It was beginning to unsettle her, knowing what she knew now, and she loathed her inability to remain detached. The state of the city was a far cry from the squalor and the filth of the trenches which had allowed the Spanish Flu to savage so many, but she hadn’t forgotten the Mambo’s words pertaining to poverty and choice. Something could surely be done to shield these children! And what of the witches? Those who might unwittingly carry the disease and pass it on to their sisters? What could be done to protect them? What precautions might prove vital for them all?   
  
Her apartment welcomed her with its refreshing shade and well stocked fridge of which she made immediate use and procured a bottle of grapefruit lemonade. With a glass of it in hand she swiftly tended to the matter of packing, before finding a seat in front of her vanity, and reached out to Hilda. It took a few attempts before her sister’s dishevelled face popped up in the glass.   
  
“Alright, Zelds? Hadn’t expected to hear from you so soon.”   
  
“You make it sound as if I habitually disappear for months at a time.”   
  
“Well, when you’re on these little excursions you-“   
  
“I am High Priestess of the Order of Hecate, Hilda. I hardly disappear.”   
  
“I just meant-“   
  
She tutted impatiently and cut her off. “Be that as it may. We have matters of importance to discuss, sister, and I fear they are rather grave.”   
  
“Oh, call me with the good news, why don’t you?” Hilda chuckled nervously.   
  
“Trust me, sister. I wish I was bringing more fortunate tidings, but the fact of the matter is that we find ourselves in the middle of a pandemic.”   
  
“Well, I do know that. It’s been all over the news, hasn’t it?”   
  
“Yes, although I had hoped that it was an unnecessary attempt by the media to whip the people into a frenzy of panic. I know better now.” She paused to reach into her drawer for a fresh cigarette. She lit it at her leisure and only spoke again once she had taken the first satisfying drag. “I also know that the pandemic does not stop for witches or warlocks. We are _all_ vulnerable.”   
  
She blew out a white plume of smoke and proceeded to fill in the details that would prove useful, her meeting with Leroy and the Mambo’s involvement.   
  
“Got swept up in your own little adventure, didn’t you? It’s like the plot of a movie.”   
  
“Yes, well, I am certainly glad that the imminent danger I find myself in will inspire you to write another gaudy book.”   
  
“Oh, Zelds, you know that’s not what I meant.”   
  
“Perhaps not.” She held up her hand. “Now, first things first. The safety of the coven. I would not dream of travelling home at a time like this and risk exposing you, though I am equally uncomfortable leaving you all unprotected. So, it falls to you, sister, to lead.”   
  
Hilda’s face twitched into the grimace of a laugh until suddenly her features froze and she stifled a gulp of air. “You’re serious.”   
  
“Yes, of course I am. You may not feel comfortable in a leadership position, but you have no choice. _We_ have no choice. The Academy must close its doors once more, and our depleted numbers must huddle together inside until it is safe enough to emerge.”   
  
“Y-yes,” Hilda stammered but had otherwise acquired an air of resolute determination that Zelda had come to cherish. “Close the doors, huddle together. Got it.” Her eyes softened. “But what about you? All alone. Are you going to be alright? You may think yourself invincible but-“   
  
“I am not. Thank you for reminding me, Hilda. As a matter of fact that was going to be the next point on my agenda. Safety precautions.”   
  
“There’s always masks?”   
  
“If this virus is strong enough to permeate _our_ defences, I would say it is doubtful that masks would do anything to deter it.”   
  
“Right…true…” She pulled a thoughtful face and Zelda used the break to draw more smoke into her lungs. “Your expertise is needed, sister. I know you haven’t served as actively as I have during the war years, but you have curated vast knowledge of natural remedies nonetheless, and I consider you an invaluable source of advice.”   
  
Her admission stunned them both into silence and for a moment they looked away from the glass of the mirror.  
  
“I-I don’t really know this disease, so I might get it wrong.”   
  
“Of course, there will always be a modicum of trial and error,” Zelda allowed, waving her hand to urge her to proceed.   
  
“And I will ask Dr Cee for advice, he has read ever so much, you really wouldn’t believe the things he-“ She stalled, noticing her sister’s look. “Right, right. Remedies. There’s a dash of cinnamon in your coffee for vitality and energy. Oh! Marigold. Yes, always a good one. Powerful little plant. Start with a salve of marigold and rosemary. Rub it deep into the skin and hope that it enhances your magical defences well enough to ward off the disease. There is an ancient spell too...if I can remember where- or, oh, oh! - or perhaps a new concoction…” She trailed off and Zelda offered her a small but grateful smile.  
  
“I will have my hand mirror with me from now on. Do update me on the state of the coven.”   
  
“I will. Can’t take me that long to figure things out, can it?”   
  
“It better not,” she scolded, if only to draw out a watery chuckle. “Now, I must be on my way again. Mambo Marie will be following her own duties today, and the children will benefit from having an adult figure there in her absence.”   
  
“Poor lambs,” Hilda sighed, “they must be ever so frightened. As will Sabrina, by the way, and Ambrose. So you better look after yourself, Zelds, do you hear me?”   
  
“Yes, Hilda. I have acknowledged your demand. Goodbye for now.”   
  
They shared another smile.   
  
“Goodbye.”   
  
Zelda sighed deeply, momentarily lost in silence and loneliness. Then she rose with renewed determination and made her way back.

Just as she had done the previous day, Marie only returned in time for dinner, laden with groceries and other bags. She ate her food with gusto and spent time with Uncle before finding her way into their joint room.   
  
“He appears to have stabilised,” Zelda remarked without looking up from her book. She had changed into nightgown and robe and was reclining on the mattress, propped up against cushions.   
  
“His condition is unchanged, that is true. But his spirit is restless still. Have you been in to see him?”   
  
She placed a finger between two pages and now turned her full attention to Marie. “I assumed that would be inappropriate. Leroy said he would not like outsiders involved.”   
  
“True too,” Marie smiled and hummed. “But that is not why you refrained, _n'est-ce pas_?”   
  
The question hung between them and only dispersed after a lingering silence.   
  
“I have talked to my sister and laid out the situation I find myself in.”   
  
Marie acknowledged the change of topic wordlessly, and sank down on her own mattress. “Was she very concerned?”   
  
“Yes, I suppose she was. She has a penchant for working with plants and herbal remedies, and has supplied me with a recipe that might yet strengthen our magical constitution.”   
  
“ _Merveilleux_! I have also secured supplies. With our community bolstered, I am hopeful we can distribute them amongst those who need them.”   
  
Zelda bit back a chuckle and set her book down. “You are certainly very optimistic.”   
  
“Don’t I have reason?” Her challenge was light and playful, the arch of her eyebrow delicately becoming.   
  
“I would venture to say that it’s rather early days yet, and that what you have planned is a big endeavour for one High Priestess alone. You may not be mortal, but you must be careful how you dispense your own energies. If you fall sick, the fate of your people may well be sealed.”   
  
Rain started to pelt the window, running shapelessly down the glass, smearing it until the outside world dissolved into a blur.   
  
“ _Gras a Bondye_ we have not one but two High Priestesses then, Zelda. I do hope that in time there will be acceptance and that you will be welcome to help.”   
  
Thunder rumbled faintly.   
  
“Marie,” Zelda sighed, finding herself surprisingly exasperated by the other’s insistence not to hear her, “if I may. You are a woman as much as a Mambo – which is a lesson I painstakingly learned myself. You do not owe the congregation every last piece of you. It would not do to deny or to neglect yourself.”   
  
A change overcame Marie then, slow and subtle to start. It was as though all tension was fleeing her jaw, as though her smile fluttered frail and nervously. It lived in her eyes too, in the molten browns and splashes of amber, in the fanning of lashes that sought to shield something softer, rawer.   
  
“Zelda…”   
  
“I apologise if I spoke too freely, but I shan’t apologise for the sentiment.”   
  
“Of course you would not.” Acceptance unfurling in the reassurance of a smile. “But read me some poetry instead. The storm will make a beautiful soundtrack, _non_?”   
  
She straightened and began to undress, leaving Zelda relieved to have her book to occupy herself with. It was rarely in her nature to be bashful, and she certainly saw no harm in displaying one’s attraction, but there was something in this blatancy that left her a little unsure, a little wrong-footed when it came to Marie. Nervous almost to slip up or to offend. And so she turned her gaze away and busied her fingers by turning those well-worn pages.  
  


_“You, darkness, that I come from_

_I love you more than all the fires_

_that fence in the world,_

_for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone_

_and then no one outside learns of you._

_But the darkness pulls in everything-_

_shapes and fires, animals and myself,_

_how easily it gathers them! -_

_powers and people-_

_and it is possible a great presence is moving near me._

_I have faith in nights._

  
Her voice was quiet, her tone reverent, as she read out the lines that had slipped under her skin so long ago. That encompassed her in so much detail, baring intimacies that she would have hesitated to reveal herself.   
  
And when she had finished and lifted her head, she found herself again in Marie’s gaze, visible in the words that another had written. And Marie saw and heard and stayed, dimming all lights in the room until only twilight held them. Breath meeting breath in the space in between that had suddenly become smaller, warmer. They were careful to cradle the silence, slipping under the covers of their makeshifts beds, eyes connecting. Whole together somehow until sleep overcame them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Mwen pa konnen - I don't get it, I don't understand  
> \- timoun yo - children  
> \- the poem is called "You Darkness" by Rilke   
> \- thanks for liking it and for taking the time to comment, I find nothing more encouraging


	5. Chapter 4

It was peculiar to note that by the following morning she had adopted a new routine that wasn’t so different from the one in Greendale. She rose alone while the house lay silent to give thanks to Hecate and Her protection, joined Kessie and Leroy in their breakfast preparations while Marie tended to Uncle. In a moment of flippancy she mused that she was little more than a newspaper away from normalcy, but of course the atmosphere was different. This wasn’t the vast open space of the Mortuary kitchen where her niece would bound down the stairs up to her ears in some kind of mischief or her sister would stand tucked behind the stove, chattering away. This was somebody else’s home and somebody else’s history and she a barely tolerated accessory.  
  
She took a sip of her coffee and stifled a sigh. It wouldn’t do to dwell in self-pity.  
  
“How are you feeling today, Kessie?” All conversation stopped immediately and three pairs of eyes turned towards her. “Come now, it is hardly an outlandish question. You look peaky, but I haven’t noticed a cough.”  
  
“I’m surprised you’ve managed to pay attention to anyone other than yourself.”  
  
“Kessie, stop it. She told me she’s sorry.”  
  
“Thank you, Leroy,” Zelda granted, lifting her cup back up to her lips, “but I do not need you to fight my battles either.”  
  
A stormy silence settled over the table that only Marie could hope to part with a sweeping motion of her two bejewelled hands. “A breakfast table is for family not for battles, _non_? We must not all like each other, but we can act with respect.” 

“Nonetheless, Leroy is right. I do owe you an apology.” She looked at the girl who regarded her with some scepticism. “I should not have exercised any form of physical restraint. It was uncalled for and inappropriate.”  
  
In the girl’s eyes there lay a look which was strikingly familiar. One of hesitant acceptance but fierce determination not to lower one’s guard.  
  
“Yeah, it was.”  
  
They all lapsed into silence for a little while, accepting the truce, and polished off their meals which had become more lavish since Marie had acquired additional supplies. There were pieces of fruit and a selection of cold cuts and jams and even a plate filled with beignets which had mysteriously manifested out of thin air.  
  
“You do look better, _tifi_ ,” Marie said eventually. “And your uncle’s condition remains stable.”  
  
“We are made of tougher stuff, eh?” That made the Mambo laugh and Zelda smile into her cup. “Like weeds.”  
  
Marie pushed back from the table amidst a clinking of golden bracelets and stood up. Today she had opted for an ankle-length dress of burgundy satin that was split in the middle by a sash of amber, bathing her in rich strong colours that inspired confidence and hope.  
  
“I have not quite so much on my plate today, so I will be back sooner. I will bring those herbs, Zelda, and we can put your capable hands to use at last.”  
  
She met the twinkle in her eye directly and offered a satisfied smile in return. “I shall look forward to being helpful.”  
  
And the sentiment remained true for most of the day which passed at such a slow pace that Zelda could have watched each second slide by on the clock. Stuck in those same four walls with no purpose other than to maintain the protective barrier her weak magic permitted. A chorus of voices drew her attention and she rose from her position at the table to steal a glance out of the window. Children were occupying the street again, playing together or yelling at each other from behind little fences. Some trying to maintain distance, throwing worried looks here and there as if expecting to be caught, others engaging in a shameless game of rough and tumble, ignorant to the consequences. She pressed out a sigh and fumbled for her cigarettes.  
  
“Can’t sit still?”  
  
She glanced over at Leroy and Kessie who had claimed each end of the sofa as their own and were stretching out in an awkward tangle of limbs.  
  
“You’ve been fidgeting all day.”  
  
“I can scarcely remember a day in which I have sat around at my leisure. For the past two decades I have been raising my niece and even before that I supported my brother in his role as High Priest. I practised midwifery-“ She paused, waving her hand about. “It hardly matters. I simply cannot understand how anyone would allow these children to play outside. It’s far too risky! The mortality rate of children and young adults significantly rose during past virus strains, to underestimate it now is utter foolishness.”  
  
She had started pacing by the window and barely noticed how Kessie and Leroy exchanged looks.  
  
“A lot of them are probably bored.”  
  
“And, as Mambo Marie said, several of their parents will still be going to work every morning, because they can’t afford to miss it.”  
  
“You are telling me that some of these children are entirely unsupervised?” She ceased to move and this time caught the shared glances. “Well then? What’s on your minds?”  
  
“The charm you’re wearing,” Kessie replied, tapping her own throat.  
  
“What about it? Your Mambo gave it to me.” Her fingers wrapped around it, defensively shielding it from view.  
  
“It’s a Nigerian Orisha, another version of a Iwa in a way. The patron saint of children. Their guardian. It’s fitting.”  
  
“I see.” She procured her cigarette holder. “Excuse me.”  
  
Once more, the backyard of the house provided the shelter she needed. A sense of prickliness had befallen her so quickly that she hadn’t had the time to discern the reason. But it was becoming clearer to her now between short puffs of her cigarette. And as though she had been summoned by her mere thoughts alone, Marie appeared in the yard a short while later.  
  
“I have marigold and rosemary,” she announced, wiggling a selection of tiny pouches in the air. “And some caraway and clove and mint. Just because I felt like it.” She paused, the smile in her eyes dying rather than the one on her lips. “Is something wrong, Zelda? Have you heard more from your sister?”  
  
“No, nothing of the kind. Quite frankly, Marie, I am annoyed.”  
  
“Yes, I can see that, _chérie_. But I cannot tell by what? Should I have brought mugwort too?”  
  
“I am hardly in the mood for your peculiar sense of humour either. I feel I have rather become the butt of it lately.”  
  
Marie clicked her tongue and let her acquisitions disappear back into her satchel. “A sweeping statement, eh? We have only just met. But, please, speak your mind.”  
  
Zelda had begun to pace again, one hand on her hip, the other free to gesture. “This amulet…” She trailed off already, all momentum burned away by her own anger. “I know why you gave it to me.”  
  
“Because you shepherded Leroy as Eshu Bi might have done? Yes.”  
  
“There is more.”  
  
“Yes,” Marie patiently inclined her head. “Your Goddesses’ _pouvoir_ lies in the maternal. I knew it would suit you.”  
  
“No!” Zelda insisted, but adjusted her tone after one look from the other woman. “I remember what you said to me when first we crossed paths. You asked if the spirits had spoken to me yet. Yet you already knew my name. I can only imagine what they have told you about me.”  
  
Marie’s gaze turned far too soft to bear, piercing her somewhere inside at a tender spot she thought to have tucked away carefully enough.  
  
“Zelda, your worries are unfounded. The view that I have of you-“  
  
Annoyance flared up anew. “Oh, I could not care less what you make of me, Marie. What I do strongly object to, however, is to be infiltrated by gossiping sprites. If there is something I wish to convey, I will do so. Personally.”  
  
She anticipated a rebuttal or at the very least some smart quip, but instead Marie held up her hands. “ _Désolée_ , Zelda. You are right. Sometimes I spend so much time with the Iwa that I forget how _not_ to listen. But I promise you, whatever they have told me has not been passed on.”  
  
She reached out and paused.  
  
“Oh for Hecate’s sake, just take my hands. I do not see why you keep pussyfooting around it.”  
  
Marie’s eyebrows rose, but her approach remained calm and measured. “Because my touch was unwanted before. Perhaps it is enough I unwittingly crossed one boundary, _non_?”  
  
“I take it they have told you about him too? About what he did?” she bristled, lost in a rage that kept igniting afresh, roaring over an emotion much murkier and more painful to examine.  
  
“Zelda,” Marie interrupted, “I do not know everything from the Iwa. I can read your body language, your looks. It gives me pleasure to discover you now, not just your history.”  
  
Her brazen honesty at last took the wind out of her sails, and she lowered her gaze to the ground, uncertain and confused.  
  
“Now, what do you say we turn these herbs into salves?”  
  
Zelda clasped her hands over her stomach and smoothed her blouse as well as her expression. “Yes, that would be agreeable.”   
  
“Great. I will fetch pestle and mortar and we can start.”  
  
“Out here?” Zelda asked, frowning.  
  
“Why not? It’s a beautiful day.” She smiled and dropped her satchel to the ground. “I’ll be right back.”  
  
Left to her own devices and eager to occupy her hands, Zelda sank into a sitting position and pulled the herbs out of the bag. By the time Marie returned, carrying not only pestle and mortar but also a selection of bowls and jars as well as a cheesecloth on a tray, she had manually plucked the herbs into smaller pieces and arranged them into little piles.  
  
“Oh, you are efficient! Let me grind them down while you prepare the rest?”  
  
“Certainly.” She pulled the tray closer to her and poured the oil into a large bowl. It was thick and white and smelled pleasantly of coconut. “My sister just adores this kind of craft. Making salves and lotions. She also slips potions into food recipes.”  
  
She looked through the other jars on the tray until she located beeswax and spooned some of it into the bowl of oil.  
  
“We each find our _fòs_ , our medium, _non_?”  
  
Zelda tilted her head towards her smiling face, but her eyes were drawn towards her hands. Free of rings, they were exerting carefully controlled power over the pestle, flexing and releasing in a steady rhythm. Capable hands, full of feminine grace.  
  
“I suppose we do. Still, I cannot remember the last time I did this. I much prefer the…robustness of a hex well executed.”  
  
That made Marie laugh, and she found she delighted in the sound. “That does seem fitting, Zelda.”  
  
She leaned across and brushed marigold and rosemary from the mortar into the bowl.  
  
“Whatever you are implying, I suggest you keep it to yourself,” she warned playfully and earned herself another chuckle.  
  
“ _Tanpri_ , just a little bit of fun, _chérie_. Or are you so cruel a woman to deny me?”  
  
Zelda laughed now too and passed the bowl to her. “I shall be merciful today. I will even let you do the honour of setting up the infusion.”  
  
“ _Mesi ampil,_ Zelda _!_ Your kindness touches my heart!”  
  
She placed the bowl in a sun-filled spot on the ground, cradled it between both palms and with a firm voice began to chant. Zelda did not try to disguise her curiosity now and followed the rocking motion of Marie’s body with great interest. Everything about her, about her faith seemed to be tied into colour and life and celebration, and it triggered a yearning that she could not quite make sense of.  
  
“Does every Iwa have a symbol?”  
  
Surprised, Marie looked over her shoulder at her, but soon her eyes crinkled into a smile. “Yes. Sometimes when we call on the spirits, we use _veves_. We draw them onto the ground with cornmeal or sand.” She abandoned the bowl for the time being and walked across to another patch of earth. “We have that in common, _n’est -ce pas_? I have seen you in prayer.”  
  
She stood over the exact spot in which Zelda had drawn the faces of the moon that morning. The rain-softened soil still held their shapes enveloped now.  
  
“Yes, I suppose we do. It is to honour the entirety of a witch’s life span.” She moved her hand from symbol to symbol. “Maiden, mother, crone.”  
  
“That is beautiful,” Marie replied, and there was nothing but honesty in her voice. “May I show you some of our _veves_?”  
  
“I would be honoured,” Zelda said, inclining her head. “I must admit, I have never been taught like this. Our faith, Satanism at the time, was almost ingrained in our matter. You wouldn’t think to question or explain it. We were not shown like this.” Once more she swept her hand through the air from the moon symbols to the elaborate pattern Marie had started to create in the earth. Her forehead crinkled into a frown. “Naturally, I must hardly mention the vast difference between those lessons the men learned and those that we were taught. All practical teachings were limited to nursing and midwifery. Everything else consisted of words upon words, and our only task was to memorise them and to repeat. And if one did not, there were always consequences. Subtle ones, ones you did not reckon with.”  
  
She blinked. There was a darkness that still lingered in her body until this day. A whole cloud of feelings that was not transparent enough to grasp yet always present.  
  
“I could not have dreamed to speak to my High Priest the way Leroy addressed you. With such intimacy like a child ought to do.”  
  
She rubbed her arm with her hand.  
  
"I am sorry you were denied that, Zelda,” Marie said, beckoning her to kneel down by her side. “And I will not claim that my experience has been free of flaw. My grand-mère was powerful, and she taught me as best as she could. But many things I had to discover for myself-“ She paused but finally granted, “Which can be empowering.”  
  
“And lonely.”  
  
“Yes. But she did show me that kindness opens doors. And so I try to hold on to that. Now, this _veve_ here represents Damballah-Wedo.”  
  
Zelda bent over it and studied the drawing in the earth. “They look like snakes.”  
  
“Yes, good. He is the father of creation, and a bringer of peace. He is the wisest of all Iwa.”  
  
“There is a theme of snakes across many faiths, it seems. The one that tempted Eve in the garden comes to mind. Or Jörmungandr, the World Serpent in Norse mythology.”  
  
“We are all human in the end.” Marie began drawing a fresh symbol into the earth. “We share icons and depictions, the way we hope and love.” She finished and looked up at Zelda. “I am proud of my faith, but I am not blind enough to think that all of its elements are unique.”  
  
“Is that why you gave me an amulet depicting a Nigerian Orisha rather than a Haitian Iwa?”  
  
“No,” Marie laughed. “I did that because my great-grandmother’s roots are in Africa with the Yoruba and their religion. You can find representatives of Eshu Bi in Vodou too, of course, so maybe you are right after all. We all come from the same beautiful fabric.”  
  
Sunshine fell onto her face, basking it in light and illuminating the angles of her jaw, the high cliffs of her cheekbones. And Zelda found herself drawn to her warmth, weak in the knees with yearning. She bent over, hair falling into her face like a curtain of red that separated them from the rest of the world. Fingers grasping, reaching, almost cupping until-  
  
“Mambo Marie!”  
  
Frantic footsteps announced his arrival, giving Zelda just enough time to straighten before the door flew open behind them.  
  
“ _Gason_ , what is the matter?” Marie rose by her side. Her feet turned in circular motion across the earth, blurring the _veves_ she had drawn.  
  
“Janie is calling from the street. She says Mrs Calhoun is screaming and hollerin’ in her house. They’re all too scared to enter in case they catch something.”  
  
Zelda frowned. “There’s children playing together in the streets. I’ve even seen adults talking to each other from behind fences. People are still going to work, but now they are afraid of entering someone’s home?”  
  
Marie reached backwards and with her hand suspended in mid-air, she bade her to pause. “We will go and see what has happened.”  
  
“We?” Leroy repeated, blanching at the prospect. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Not you,” Marie amended gently. “I know you are 13 years old and your uncle considers you a man, but you have enough burdens to carry, _n’est-ce pas_? Zelda will accompany me, I hope?”  
  
“Me?” she blinked. “But what about the salve?”  
  
“It will continue to infuse in our absence, and Leroy will take it inside once the sun has set. Won’t you?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Zelda looked between them, struggling for composure. She wasn’t accustomed to having to wait for permission, not in her role of directrix and certainly not in her role as matriarch, but now discovered that there was a kind of privilege in being asked.  
  
“Then it is agreed. Lead the way, Marie. The matter is urgent, it seems.”  
  
The Mambo’s smile bore traces of similar relief, and she wasted no time collecting her satchel and setting off towards the street.  
  
“Mrs Calhoun lives at the border to the next ward. She is a special woman who prefers her own company.”  
  
Zelda had no trouble keeping up with Marie’s long strides and listened to her explanation. “So the people are hesitant to approach her now, because she offended them before? That seems rather petty.”  
  
“I agree, Zelda. It is a shame. But I am thankful they were concerned enough to send word to me.”  
  
“And what changed your mind about me?”  
  
They turned a corner and headed down yet another long street.  
  
“I don’t understand.” Marie gave her a brief look and then focused forward again.  
  
“You did not want to take me along before. What makes this different?”  
  
“Your magical properties for one. We have both strengthened our energies in prayer and by handling those herbs. But you are right, Zelda, there is another reason. I have begun to wonder if I truly practice what I preach. Inclusion, tolerance. I must normalise your presence not exclude it.”  
  
Zelda felt that words failed her, and so she inclined her head and walked the rest of the way in silence. She wasn’t certain that she was deserving of any of this, but humbled all the same.  
  
Their destination was a little house, painted entirely in yellow. Rows of flowers had been carefully planted in the front yard and all the curtains appeared to be hand crafted too. She admired them as they crossed the footpath towards the front door and only stopped when terrible wails reached her ear.  
  
Unimpressed and undeterred, Marie raised her hand and knocked. The cries did not cease but nobody came to answer either. For a couple of minutes they waited until Marie tried again. This time a deafening silence followed the cries and footsteps dragged and scuffed closer and closer.  
  
“Yes?” The old lady that emerged wore her life on her face. Wrinkles and lines told the story of love and loss, of laughter and tears. They were engraved in her skin like rings in a bark of tree.  
  
“ _Mon amie_ , it’s Marie.”  
  
The old woman squinted up against the warm orange light of the setting sun. “You are not alone.”  
  
“No, this is my friend Zelda. We came to check on you.”  
  
The rest of the exchange proceeded in French which Zelda was perfectly capable of following but with some restraint reminded herself that it was best not to interfere. With tenacity and patience, Marie won out in the end, and Mrs Calhoun stepped aside to let them enter.  
  
“She tells me you are not nosy,” she said as Zelda was passing her. “So I better not catch you poking about.”  
  
“I can assure you, your personal life is of no interest to me,” she drawled in return, half expecting to be scolded by Marie, but the Mambo seemed more than content to let her carry on as she pleased.  
  
“I like her,” the old lady said, tapping the air as if addressing an invisible spectre.  
  
“Mrs Calhoun says she has been experiencing symptoms.”  
  
“I said it could be symptoms or it could be the flu.”  
  
Zelda listened and nodded, despite having heard it all already.  
  
“And it really wrecks my chest. Those nasty coughs. So…I scream a little. Here and there. It lets the devil escape, you know?”  
  
“Quite.” Her lips twitched imperceptibly and behind the woman’s back, Marie was shaking her head. She, too, struggled to hide her amusement.  
  
“She has agreed to let us examine her on the condition we share some of our salve once it is ready.”  
  
“I am old, but I am no fool.”  
  
At that, Zelda did laugh. She spread her hands in a diplomatic manner. “It is a reasonable request, I suppose. Shall we proceed?”  
  
They followed the old woman to a beautiful antique sofa and waited for her to get comfortable. While Marie went over the symptoms with her, Zelda took stock of her pulse.  
  
“Have you produced any blood?”  
  
“No, there has been nothing quite so unsavoury, thank you.”  
  
Zelda inclined her head and turned her back to allow for privacy while Marie listened to Mrs Calhoun’s chest.  
  
“It appears to be the flu,” she concluded. “This, however, means that you must rest and stay inside. Mind the quarantine, yes? You are at bigger risk now to catch the virus. I will fetch your groceries for you and you cannot do any gardening.”  
  
“What more will you take from me, honey?” the old woman asked but clutched her hand in gratitude. “No matter. You’re always a welcome sight. Looking more and more like your grand-mère every day.”  
  
Marie’s eyes were warm and soft, but salt mingled between her lashes in a way that made Zelda shift her weight from one leg to the other, uncertain of where to look. Thankfully, Marie was quick to collect herself and with a sweeping motion beckoned through the room.  
  
“I will hold a ceremony for you before we go. The spirits will offer more protection than we can at this time.”  
  
“I will not decline such kindness.”  
  
“I didn’t think so,” Marie winked and pulled an instrument out of her satchel. It was a rattle of some description which she set down on the floor. Making space in the middle of the room, she produced the jar with powdery substance and spread it everywhere, drawing a _veve_ and then another while Zelda stood and watched.  
  
“Do you have your drum still, Madame?”  
  
“Of course. What do you take me for?”  
  
The instrument was passed first to Marie and then to Zelda.  
  
“You can’t be serious. Never in my life have I-“  
  
“It will be fun, _chérie_. _Calmez-vous_. There is no right or wrong.”  
  
Marie did not retract the drum, but she also did not push it towards her. Still, she looked satisfied when Zelda accepted it in the end and perched stiffly on the edge of a chair.  
  
“Begin when you are ready.”  
  
Her gaze roamed around the room, from the old lady to the cornmeal symbols, to Marie’s radiant form all in red. Finally, it settled in her own lap. Her hands tensed then relaxed upon the skin of the instrument. Something twisted and caught inside her between every breath. Like guilt or betrayal. Nonetheless her fingers tapped. Gentle at first and slow, quiet without much force. The rattle joined and Marie’s voice, too, calling Papa Legba and Met Kafou to open the gates to all Petro magic. Before her eyes a storm of fire ignited, a force of colours and energy that whirled and danced just like Marie. Voice growing louder, calling, beckoning, drawing them in. She called for Gran Bwa as the drumming swelled and pounded, as the rattle cracked and cracked, and the room expanded around them to accommodate the spirit whose vastness was as immeasurable as his wisdom. Her plea was heard. What followed was silence, deafening and abrupt. Their next exhalation suffused and softened it, and dazed they looked at one another.  
  
“Thank you, child, for the fortune you bestow upon the world.”  
  
Marie laughed, exhilaration dancing in her eyes. Her brow was glistening with sweat.  
  
“The pleasure was mine.” Her gaze lingered on Zelda thick with some emotion that caused her to swallow her next breath.  
  
She did not find her voice until they left the house and navigated their way back onto the main street. The waxing moon stood high above the outline of the city, illuminating the night sky with its splendour, exposing her and her questionable deeds. Participation in a ceremony like this would have been deemed unthinkable in the Church of Night. Was Hecate judging her too? A breeze whispered around them, gentle and cooling, and everything lay deserted. No answer came forth from the Goddess herself.  
  
“What is occupying your mind, Zelda?”  
  
Marie’s question was gentle, and she seemed careful not to intrude. Zelda took a look at her and considered her words. She was not yet ready to express her concerns.  
  
“It’s about the children, actually.”  
  
Marie nodded and encouraged her to continue.  
  
“I have observed them now on two occasions playing together unchaperoned. They are boundless enough to disregard the rules designed to keep them alive. I am aware of the difficulties and consequences, Marie, but I can hardly be expected to sit by day after day while they carry on taking such risks!”  
  
“What do you propose?”  
  
Her eyebrows rose.  
  
“Perhaps a way to occupy them while maintaining distance?”  
  
“I could distribute some of those herbs, and we could show them how to make salves.”  
  
“Yes, marvellous idea! Perhaps I could read to the younger ones who will hardly sit still long enough to learn something like this?”  
  
Marie studied her for a moment before looking back up at the moon. “ _Petèt._ If I join you, they will not mind it. You do not agree?”  
  
Somehow she had noticed the slight slip of her features that for a moment alone had formed a grimace.  
  
“The truth is, Marie, I was hoping to alleviate you. I am not questioning your judgement or authority but-“ She shook her head. “You are caring for Uncle, you are distributing produce and basic medicine, you promised Mrs Calhoun to visit. If you will teach the children and read to them too, I merely wonder if there are enough hours in the day to rest.”  
  
A stubborn little groove appeared between Marie’s brows again, and Zelda hastened to add, “I know you do not like hearing it again, my dear, but I do worry.”  
  
The Mambo exhaled long and heavily and when the breath had left her body, there was room for a light chuckle. “It seems to me we are both desperate to do the right thing. But I am making peace with knowing that it no longer exists. I answered the call to tend to Mrs Calhoun tonight, having spent days in a house with two infected people. She did not have the virus, but now she might be exposed anyhow. May Bondye protect her from my actions.” She sighed. “Your first instinct was to stay here to shield your coven, Zelda. Mine was to go out and mingle. I think about that often.”  
  
Zelda tutted impatiently and gave Marie a sidelong look. “Surely you are not insinuating that one way is better than the other? We are both motivated by consideration and concern rather than ignorance.”  
  
“Of course. I am Mambo, and I must lead. Mrs Calhoun has no-one else. Many here do not. And the government?” Another pause punctuated by a scoff. “They do not care. It falls to me to tend to them, to preserve distance where possible but to become tangible if necessary. I must accept that there is no right decision anymore and carry on doing my best.”  
  
Zelda wordlessly acknowledged the truthfulness of her words and followed her down a little street towards a small arm of water. This wasn’t the route they had taken before, but she was grateful for the peace this detour offered. There was a stillness to this place, a quiet; a step removed from the lines of houses and the promise of observation.  
  
In tandem, their pace slowed and they lingered at the water’s edge, watching the wind drive creases into its surface. Lights twinkled there, too; serenely. Her breathing grew deep and even, the knot in her stomach at last unravelled. Yet something moved and whispered underneath her skin like a current, perhaps, or something softer, like a change in the air, an anticipation.   
  
_“If you can not hear them. Ask the ancestors to speak louder. They only whisper so as not to frighten you. They know they have been convinced. Coerced. Spooked. From your skin._ ”  
  
Marie’s voice was quiet and soft, and Zelda found herself gravitating towards it, ceasing to walk altogether. Her question was posed in silence, and Marie’s smile unfurled slowly like a secret.  
  
“My favourite poem.” She flicked her wrist. “One of them. Full of wisdom.”  
  
She shone as beautifully in the cool light of the moon, as she had done under the bright rays of the sun, and Zelda’s whole being trembled. As the whispers strengthened, her skin came alive, and Marie took a step closer, holding her in her gaze. Her hand lifted slowly, drifted towards her until it hovered so very close to her cheek.  
  
“Has the night made you tender?”  
  
She was pulled taught at the core, breathless, aching. And there still was no answer, no words to say that could hope to encompass the depth, the complexity of-  
  
Her lids drifted shut, her head tilted to one side, too heavy now to hold its own weight. Resting in Marie’s palm, lips parting in welcome. Enveloped. Until two breaths became one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -mugwort - used for divination  
> -fòs - strength/power  
> -Mesi ampil - thank you so much  
> -solar infusion is a thing in making healing salves - it usually takes 4-6 weeks, but you can amplify it and speed it up with magic  
> \- the poem Marie recites is from a collection of poems by Nayyirah Waheed called "Salt" - I cannot stress enough how good they are


	6. Chapter 5

It was just before dawn when Zelda disentangled herself from sheets and covers of her makeshift bed on the floor. Twilight stood frail and suspended under the watchful eye of a nearly full moon. How quickly days could turn into weeks! She stole a glance at Marie who, as ever, continued to sleep peacefully, undisturbed by her stirring. And, as ever, longing unfurled from within at the mere sight of her.   
  
While progress had been aplenty in recent times, it had only pertained to the state of quarantine and the support of the community. Progress between them had been woefully lacking. The days since their kiss at the edge of the river had been little more than a series of light touches. A palm pressed to the small of her back for reassurance. A gentle brush of fingers in a darkened street. Tantalising but agonisingly so.   
  
Zelda was not unaccustomed to her own hunger, her easy craving for physicality and sex. What she was unaccustomed to, however, was this flurry of fear. A terror of being too much or too little – it varied, day by day. Sometimes she feared she might consume the other with her need and desire. That her sexual appetites or perhaps even her advances were offensive, overpowering. That Marie would come to see past the electrifying grazing of skin against skin and discover the hideousness that lurked underneath. That wanted brazenly, thirsted openly. Sometimes she feared the opposite. That Marie came to realise that it hadn’t been the night who had made her tender but her, herself. What if their push and pull lessened? Would she still long for that which remained?   
  
Her eyes travelled the length of Marie’s sleeping form and settled, at last, on the even rise and fall of her chest. She had memorised its rhythm now and knew that its image would always occupy a space in her mind. Reaching for her gown, she found the silk to soothe her restless fingers and cocooned herself in it, so it might soothe her body, too. For a moment it worked, and her thoughts steered to more comforting shores. How much they had achieved together since their visit to Mrs Calhoun! Salves and ointments had grown more potent, and the selection they could offer those who experienced any symptoms of illness had expanded exponentially. Hilda frequently reported good news from Greendale where the coven stayed close together and experimented with arcane spells to strengthen spirit and constitution. A testament to collaboration, to a united witchkind which until then had been entirely unheard of.   
  
She knew that she had Marie to thank for much of this, for her inclusive outlook had opened many doors. Not only in the neighbourhood where strangers now permitted Zelda to enter and help, valuing her opinion and craft nearly as much as that of their Mambo or Priest. But also with her sister and niece who eagerly embraced Marie as though she had been part of the family for centuries. And it was in these quiet hours between night and dawn that Zelda could admit to herself the truth. She, too, had come to think of Marie as a continued part of their lives. Her presence popped up in all her plans, in considerations made that extended beyond quarantine and virus. She found herself scheduling visits to New Orleans like little guilty escapes from her duties as High Priestess. Envisioned moments stolen away in the shade of ancient trees where more than the sweltering Louisiana heat made their skin slick with sweat.   
  
What infuriatingly silly school girl fantasies she entertained! And how terribly sobering reality could turn out to be… Had she not learned anything from her recent marriage?  
  
“If you are going to watch me much longer, Zelda, you will miss morning prayer.” Marie opened one eye and playfully squinted up at her. A smile was already tugging at the corners of her mouth.   
  
Zelda smoothed her expression before it could give anything away, and carefully tucked fantasies, fears and concerns into their hiding places. Still, her voice was thick when she spoke.  
  
“If the Dark Mother would permit it, I would worship you both, morning, noon and night.”   
  
“ _Tanpri_ , _chérie_. It is much too early for your tongue to undo me.”   
  
Fire settled underneath her navel and to quench it, she pulled the sash on her robe tighter. “Perhaps Hecate will grant me audience at least.”   
  
She made for the door, but Marie caught her hand in passing.   
  
“I will take pleasure in watching you, my High Priestess.” She tilted her head and let her gaze wander up and down. “As always.”   
  
Zelda clicked her tongue and shook her head in faux-reprimand, and then gathered her things and left to wash and dress. It was the prolonged silence when she emerged again and passed Uncle’s room to walk to the backyard that caused her to pause. Heart in throat, she listened. Dread rose inside her, heavy and thick, at the prospect of having to break the news of another heart-breaking loss to a child.   
  
“Hello? Who’s there?” The voice sounded hoarse and tired.   
  
She buried her nose in the crook of her elbow to gloss over the stench of the trenches.   
  
“I know you’re there, boy.”   
  
Bracing herself, she gently pushed open the door and stepped across the threshold. “Your nephew is still asleep, Sir. How are you feeling?”   
  
Her words were measured and she made certain to keep a respectable distance. Yet seeing him alone helped chase away the last shreds of panic. Uncle looked weary, it was true, and his face showed traces of the strain the virus had ravaged upon him. But it was a far cry from those emaciated faces she remembered from the war.   
  
“Exhausted. But every ache assures me that I am alive.” The moment of relief passed quickly and soon, suspicion entered his eyes again. “Who exactly are you? And what do you think you’re doing in my house?”   
  
“I’m a friend of Mambo Marie’s. We sought refuge here when your-“ She paused and frowned. “When Kessie came down with symptoms herself.”   
  
He tried to push himself up on his elbows and did not stop her when she stepped in to adjust his cushions. “In that case, I owe you my gratitude.”   
  
His hand gently found hers. It was cool and smooth and covered in wrinkles. Kindness flowered from his palm, and it caught in her heart until it trembled, bringing an unexpected rush of tears to her eyes.   
  
“You’re most welcome.” She straightened, dignified. “Though it truly was a collaborative effort. I will let your Mambo know that you are conscious at last. She will be more than pleased to see you.”   
  
And once Marie had been notified, the entire house awoke as if in celebration. Voices rose in chants of gratitude and attracted neighbours who shamelessly ignored the established rules and congregated in the front yard until Kessie chased them away, laughing.   
  
Zelda chose her moment carefully, slipping out when everybody was sufficiently occupied. She had no destination in mind when she set off, but her steps drew her automatically towards Mrs Calhoun’s house.   
  
“You know I detest guests,” the old woman greeted her once she found her on her doorstep, but her eyes twinkled warmly. “Especially those with long faces.”   
  
Zelda endeavoured to ignore her at first and stepped into the shade of the parlour. Faint jazz music drifted out from the adjacent room and the smell of tobacco clung to the air.   
  
“And you know that you oughtn’t to be smoking after recovering from that dreadful cough. So perhaps we would both be wise in not mentioning either point, yes?”   
  
Mrs Calhoun chuckled and ushered her into her living room where she proceeded to pour a glass of Whiskey from a beautiful crystal decanter. She passed it on to Zelda and then poured herself another. “What do you say, honey? To mortality?”   
  
She scoffed and already took a sip of her drink. “I’ll hardly toast to that. Although it appears it is good for a surprise or two.”   
  
“I take your cryptic words to mean that old man Jonah has finally woken up again?”   
  
Zelda took another sip and crossed one leg over the other. She peered at the old woman over the top of her glass. “You are familiar with him?”   
  
“Oh, I am familiar with anyone who has ever passed through this neighbourhood in the past century. My last husband was very involved with the church, trying to build bridges. That was before that dimwit Douwry took over.”   
  
Her gaze wandered to a framed photograph that was sitting on the mantle, showing an only marginally younger version of herself in the arms of a dapper looking gentlemen with dark, fragile curls.   
  
“He was a Catholic?”   
  
“Yes, and I came from Haiti. Put a pep in his step, I did.” Her grin became toothy and wide. “You know what they say about passionate arguments and the consequences they entail.”   
  
Zelda’s eyebrows rose but only a little while a laugh slipped past her lips. “I see he was a very devout Catholic.”   
  
Mrs Calhoun tsked and waved her hand about. “One does not exclude the other, honey. When we get naked we’re all just human.” She sipped at her drink, and they both lapsed into a comfortable silence. “Now, are you going to tell me why you’re here drinking my expensive Whiskey?”   
  
Against her earlier criticism, Zelda procured a cigarette and lit it before answering. “Leroy’s uncle expressed gratitude to me.”   
  
“What deeply upsetting notion!”   
  
She rolled her eyes and exhaled smoke into the space between them. “I have not touched him since I entered that house. I hadn’t even seen him until this day. How could I be the recipient and accept it comfortably?”   
  
“So you feel shame because of that? Or because of the ivory of your skin? Or is shame just inherent to you?” Her cool gaze swept over her body, needing no more words to highlight those blemishes that lived like deep red lashings underneath her skin.   
  
“I am entirely at a loss,” she granted. “My upbringing was privileged if very strict and devout. And I have been trying to do my very best not to meddle where it is unwanted. Marie is more than a capable leader, so it hardly required effort on my part. And yet I worry that I do not fit which I understand is laughable coming from someone like me.”   
  
She sucked on her cigarette and rather harshly blew out a fresh cloud of smoke, impatient with her own inability to put feelings into words.   
  
“You worry that she will come to find you lacking.”   
  
“Yes. But it extends beyond that. Many things have been in flux in recent years. Even the Goddess that I have come to pray to, I do not fully know. I am trying to find my footing in every way possible, and Marie and her people and the Vodou-“ She had breathed anger into her words and now they burned and bristled on her tongue.   
  
“Did not arrive at an opportune moment. I felt much the same about all my husbands.”   
  
Now that the heat had diffused, she could detect the lingering aftertaste of fear in her mouth. Mrs Calhoun held her peace until the next song had reached its end.   
  
“I have known Marie since she was a girl. Her _grand-mère_ told me proudly when they saw the gift in her. Everyone was elated! Except her. She cried her eyes out that night by the water.” Her own eyes had grown vacant and her head tipped back against the sofa, and it was obvious that she no longer fully resided in the same room. “She was upset, because now everybody had to approach her at a respectful distance. They would pray to her as much as Bondye, but they would not pray _with_ her. All her friends would treat her differently, and even her relationship with the spirits would shift. Previously, she had played with them sometimes. But now she would have to learn to address them differently, to harness them. And she did not want that. Her calling came at a loss of freedom, and it was a burden to her.”   
  
“Why are you telling me this?” Zelda questioned, putting out her cigarette. She brought her Whiskey glass to her lips and finished its contents.   
  
“Because she would listen to your turmoil with more kindness than you’ll receive from me. And she’d understand. A merging of two covens is a difficult endeavour. It needs to be shared. You have helped this community, she has helped this community. Do not let shame eat away at it, or fear. There is room for that yet when you really cock up.”   
  
Zelda laughed into her empty glass and allowed Mrs Calhoun to replenish it a moment later. She felt comforted by the other’s straight-forward honesty and found that some of her restless thoughts started to settle. They spent the next hour talking through Mrs Calhoun’s own history, her experience with men and her annoyance about nosy neighbours which Zelda took as her cue to leave.   
  
She departed in the vague direction of Uncle’s house, making certain to check in on a few more people who had complained about symptoms in the past. Most of them had experienced the bloody cough but – unlike Kessie and Uncle – not proceeded to stabilise. Zelda found them all in various stages of fever, half lucid and barely responsive. She reassured their families but maintained honesty, knowing that false hope would only pierce them more if the situation worsened.   
  
When she emerged at last into the setting light of the sun, Marie was waiting for her on the street. Leaning casually against a fence, she had her eyes trained on her from the moment she stepped over the threshold, and Zelda, who hadn’t reckoned with her at all, gave a small start.   
  
“ _Désolée_ , _chérie_. Did I frighten you?”   
  
Her smile remained calm on her lips, but she could see that her eyes were regarding her quite carefully.   
  
“Not at all, Marie, forgive me. I was lost in thought.”   
  
She watched her closely still.   
  
“Mmh, for a while now, _n’est-ce pas_? Will you tell me what has been troubling you?”   
  
Her hand unfurled from her side and extended between them like an offering. After a brief hesitation, Zelda took it and together they set off towards the water again.   
  
“I would very much like to, Marie, but I fear that perhaps I am not ready yet.”   
  
The Mambo’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, trying to soothe her. “Of course, Zelda. But I can be selfish, too. We have a saying, _Kouri lapli, tonbe larivyè._ It means that sometimes avoidance causes worse outcomes. So I must tell you that I fear those thoughts will build a wall higher than can be torn down with words!”   
  
Surprised, Zelda tilted her head to observe her as they walked, caught how her face twisted and pinched under the force of her emotions. She also saw the heavy breath that left her soon afterwards, her conscious effort to roll back her shoulders. Her voice was tender when she spoke.   
  
“When I could not find you at the house, I thought you had left for good. I am glad I was mistaken.”   
  
Zelda stopped so abruptly that Marie was forced to follow. “Who do you take me for? Slinking away like a coward!”   
  
She was glad to see that this sparked a chuckle. Behind it, however, her eyes remained weary.   
  
“You are working too much,” Zelda gently scolded, lifting her free hand up to run her knuckles along her cheek.   
  
“And you are not? How many patients have you visited today?”   
  
Zelda chuckled, and let her thumb rest on her chin for a moment, wanting to commit her beautiful defiance to memory. “Not nearly as many as I would have liked. I rather dawdled at Mrs Calhoun’s before. But the work settles me, as I suspect it does you.”   
  
“It is a tangible distraction, yes.” A mischievous sparkle entered her eyes, and she leaned in briefly to steal a kiss. “What did Mrs Calhoun have to say?”   
  
Zelda lingered in her eyes, her lips coaxing Marie’s into deeper contact. Craving more.   
  
“She talked about her husbands and her dislike for the mortals.” Marie’s nose brushed against her own, as she fed her mouth a sigh. “I personally think she is merely concerned about growing attached.”   
  
That brought their kiss to a sudden end, though Marie’s eyes still retained their same playful quality when she looked at her. “Oh, _she_ is?”   
  
Zelda tutted impatiently and turned away to start walking again. “I thought we had dispensed with your vague insinuations.”   
  
“ _V regrèt_ , Zelda. I will be direct. I think you are frightened too.”   
  
“And would that be so outrageous?” she challenged. “I certainly do not enjoy being mocked for it, Marie, and it certainly does nothing to put my mind at ease.”   
  
“ _Tanpri_ , _chérie_. I would not make fun of you for something like this. You know I am frightened for the same reason.”   
  
“Do I?” Zelda scoffed. “Because you have taken whatever you wanted whenever it pleased you. I hardly think that requires sacrifice!”   
  
Marie took a step back and lifted her hands up. “That is not fair, Zelda. Whatever I took was readily given and doubly received in return.”   
  
“Perhaps that is how you would like to view it. But it is you who kisses me or touches me when it suits you, knowing fully well that I could not possibly hope to do the same.”   
  
“Why not?” Marie challenged, hand on her hip. “Is it not obvious that I adore you? Because I do, Zelda. Just this morning I was-“   
  
“I want you to _want_ me not to adore me.”   
  
A shiver passed over her shoulders like an icy breeze. But the evening was still and quiet. Marie seemed to feel it too, for whatever words were so visibly forming on her tongue never made it past her lips. All at once her face broke into lines of grief and her hand reached for her with greater sorrow than she had ever witnessed.   
  
“Papa Legba has opened the gates. A soul has started its journey to _Guinee_.”   
  
“Who? I visited all those in critical condition and they were stable enough. It cannot be!”   
  
But she knew the answer, could see it plainly in Marie’s wide eyes. “It’s Uncle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Kouri lapli, tonbe larivyè - literally "Running in the rain, falling in the river" - By avoiding a certain outcome, sometimes we fall into a worse situation.  
> \- Guinee - is the spirit world  
> \- Zelda is being terribly unfair, of course. She is frightened and out of her comfort zone. She perceives her "sexual wiles" to get her nowhere (they're not necessarily the defining factor of their relationship) and so actual adoration and fondness probably feel rather disarming


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- tw: grief  
> \- Sètènman - of course

_The air carried the sting of winter cloaked in the thick mantle of gunpowder smoke. The broken remains of houses and monuments now littered the street and a symphony of shells lived deep in every structure she passed. The stench of the battlefield, the one of decay had followed her all the way to the shelter. She adjusted her uniform just before entering, as though a lack of creases might somehow make the news more palatable. She knew that nothing could.  
  
_“I do not see how this could have happened. He was fine when I left him.”  
  
The air here and now was balmy and unmoving, like a wall of warmth that met her face with every step. She looked at Marie, but reassurance was too dry and stuck in her throat.  
  
By the time they approached the end of the street the house stood on, they could see that a number of people had congregated around its front yard. It wasn’t their instincts that had guided them there, however, nor the shift in the atmosphere that Zelda and Marie had perceived. It was the wailing bell that had drawn them close, the terrible screams of a child who had lost everything. Zelda’s steps faltered for just a moment. And as her stomach dropped, the desire to turn around and walk away from it all nearly overwhelmed her. But Marie carried on undeterred, parting the people as if they were the sea, and quickly, she hurried after her.  
  
Leroy’s cries were slapping against the walls, his two letter pleas turning into incoherent sounds of anguish. Frozen and terrified, her own grief screaming from her eyes, Kessie greeted them in the corridor.  
  
“He was reading to Uncle, because he said he was tired. Then the air changed and he…” She trailed off, looking at both of them for guidance.  
  
Marie gathered her hands in hers and gave them a squeeze. Zelda’s hung loosely and cold in front of her, thumb picking away at thumb. Another wave of dreadful cries washed over them, breaking on itself, raw.  
  
“He won’t stop.”  
  
Zelda did not look at either of them but turned the corner into the living room in which Leroy was standing. Tears had left red scars on his cheeks, but he was beyond them now. Dry-eyed and vacant, the shell of his body would only permit his mouth to open to emit those horrifying screams. There was nothing to say to a child who had lost everything, who now faced this world feeling orphaned and alone. So she gathered him in her arms and let him, bearing each shudder, each tremor that passed through him. Time had become inconsequential and foreign. And grief lingered like a scent in every corner.  
  
“Zelda?” She recognised the touch of Marie’s hand on her shoulder but did not turn. “Kessie will help me prepare Jonah outside. It is important that the celebration continues.”  
  
She inclined her head in acknowledgement until her nose skirted across Leroy’s hair which had slowly started to grow in recent days. The pressure on her shoulder intensified, then eased, and Marie’s footsteps faded away. Zelda still offered no words to Leroy, but she opened her arms when he started to stir at last to let him step away if he wanted to. Instead, he slipped his hand into hers and walked to the sofa, curling up and in on himself. He reached for the TV remote while she toed off her heels and assumed her seat on the edge, waiting until he scooted up to rest his head in her lap.  
  
Neither of them truly watched the screen, and in the stillness that unfurled, there was only the ticking of a clock nearby and the comforting caress of fingers across scalp. Everything was a void of its own, and whatever Kessie and Marie were doing outside transpired in a different universe. She did look at him once when his breathing had settled to see if he had fallen asleep at last, but he continued to lie on his side with his eyes open but vacant, staring directly ahead. Locating her own breath trapped somewhere inside her body, she exhaled and watched over him, drawing circles and other shapes in his hair to assure him of her presence. Her gaze was only moved away when a news bulletin popped up in bright flashes of colour on the TV screen. She barely read two words of it before she averted her eyes, anger clenching her stomach tight.  
  
The government was announcing that a vaccine had been developed that should alleviate the sick from all symptoms. She drew the remote closer with magic and made sure that the upcoming report was muted. She would manage to control her fury for the time being, but she wasn’t certain she would succeed if Leroy became conscious of these developments. The injustice of it was too much.  
  
Darkness spread with reaching hands, pierced only by the flickering light of the TV, and in this space of shadows she followed the basic information provided on the screen. The vaccine had shown promising results both in the lab and on a select group of sufferers. The virus had been identified as belonging to a similar albeit more vicious strain of measles that had mutated. Virologists, researchers and doctors were all hopeful that they were on the right track and that soon the vaccines would be made available to the rest of the population.  
  
She switched off the TV then and sat in complete darkness. Her spine ached and her arms were starting to feel heavy. Soon, her eyes turned unseeing too.  
  
“Zelda?”  
  
The voice was quiet and soft, yet it lingered at the edges of her consciousness until she was able to respond. She looked up and peered through the dimly lit space until she located someone in the doorway. Someone with long dark hair and a face – one face? Or more? – hidden in the shadows.  
  
“Zelda?”  
  
She blinked and the figure turned into Marie. Kessie stood by her side, a little hunched over, a little smaller than usual.  
  
“We must get sleep.”  
  
She extended a hand to bridge the gap between them, but Zelda ducked her head and gazed down upon Leroy instead. After Edward’s death, she had barely been able to let anyone else hold Sabrina. Even with Hilda she had struggled. Now a similar urge had befallen her, and in her mind’s eye she cradled the boy in her arms, carried him into their room, so she might continue watching over him. But a hand found hers first, cool and otherworldly, but firm in its resolution. It gently guided it away until she released Leroy and stood up.   
  
“Come,” Marie repeated. She hadn’t left her position at the door nor withdrawn her hand, and Zelda slowly walked towards it, allowing Kessie to pass and rest behind Leroy.

“The Mother Goddess is protecting them both.”  
  
She did not look back.  
  
“I know. I can sense Her presence.”  
  
Marie led them towards their bedroom and held the door open, so that Zelda could slip in first. Both mattresses had been pushed together, leaving space on the other side of the room which had been filled with a number of bowls and ingredients. Instead of offering a direct explanation, Marie made a sweeping motion with her hand and beckoned her to sit. She closed the door behind them and waited until Zelda had settled, before she hiked up her dress and moved to sit directly behind her, her legs stretched out on either side of her body.  
  
“Are you comfortable?”  
  
Her warmth against her back was palpable.  
  
“Quite frankly, I am puzzled, Marie.”  
  
Her chin came to rest on her shoulder, and she sensed her tired smile against her skin. “I cannot sleep. Not yet. Can you?”  
  
Zelda shook her head, a little bit stiffly. Enveloped warmly by arms and legs, she was coming to feel her own frailty, and she did not know what to make of it. Marie hummed in acknowledgement, and it reverberated within her body, filling it with comfort.  
  
“When I can’t sleep, I occupy my hands until my mind settles.” Lightly, her fingers found hers and stripped them, one by one, of their rings. “Can you open the bag of wax for me and pour it into the big bowl over there?”  
  
Zelda followed her instructions quite automatically, her thoughts still aimlessly drifting here and there. And Marie’s body rocked along with hers, as she pushed forward to grasp the items, refusing to let go.   
  
“If you place the bowl between your legs, I can help you.”

Her heart felt sore and numb at once, and the only sturdy structure to cling on to was the other. Zelda nodded and waited until her hands cupped hers again, guiding them into the cool sea of shredded yellow flakes.  
  
“You can heat them up until they melt.”  
  
She opened up their palms and waited until Zelda was ready to channel her energies. She drew on the anger and the injustice roiling inside her, pulled them up into her skin, her fingertips and forced them into the bowl. The glass cracked once or twice underneath her power, but Marie made certain that it did not break. Slowly, the wax softened into one big, gooey mass that smouldered wonderfully and stuck to her when cooled. After a moment, Marie moved one of her hands away and reached for a smaller container and a wick.  
  
“Drip a little bit of wax into this.”  
  
She brought the jar closer to her, so Zelda could follow her instructions.  
  
“You didn’t see the news.” Somehow, she found herself talking, watching as the yellow bled from her fingertips down into the glass. “They’ve found a vaccine. _Now_.”  
  
Anger seeped from her skin and charred some of the wax. Marie set the jar aside and patiently refilled the bowl with fresh flakes. The burned remains of the old ones vanished into thin air.  
  
“Timing is never opportune. For every life saved, there will be other lives lost.”  
  
Zelda felt a frown bury creases into her forehead. She had to carefully measure her power as not to destroy the second batch.  
  
“I do not care about others. I care about Leroy and Kessie, and this utterly unnecessary loss.”  
  
Marie hummed calmly and let the lie be.  
  
“How is it that I am at my most powerful now and still I could do nothing to prevent this?”  
  
“Zelda.” This time her hands cupped hers gently and bade her to stop. “This was not your responsibility. This was Jonah’s time. Bondye has called him home.”  
  
“And the children? Does He ever think about them when he calls people to Him? Because I’m not so certain. I don’t think He wastes much time considering where their home will be now. What their path is going to become.”  
  
Marie’s hands caressed her wrists and soothingly rubbed up and down her forearms.  
  
“He will guide them. We will, Zelda. Jonah’s soul still hovers close to his body. He will be palpable to both of them and in return, for the next 9 days, we will all protect him. The children will address their grief and join me in the final ceremony which will release his body completely to Guinee, to the spirit world.”  
  
Zelda exhaled and found herself deflating, hunching over at the chest. Marie spoke with such authority on the matter, and she was too tired to argue.  
  
“I can only hope it will bring them peace. But it won’t fill the void that looms ahead of them. I saw it with my niece, with Sabrina, when my brother died.”  
  
She tilted her head to look over her shoulder at Marie and saw that her eyes, too, were swimming with sadness. The same emotion had dug deep grooves into her face, ageing her in the span of a few hours alone.  
  
“Kiss me.”  
  
Her plea emerged hoarsely, yet somehow she managed to be dignified enough not to break the contact. Marie’s features softened and gently she complied, offering comfort and warmth as lips brushed against lips. When she pulled away, Zelda produced an entirely shameful sound of protest at the back of her throat which repeated itself when Marie responded with the barest of contacts.  
  
“I’m desperately fond of you.”  
  
Marie smiled against her mouth, and it tasted like light. “As I am of you, _chérie_. And scared, and frightened.”  
  
Zelda searched her eyes, her previous fears were slowly resurfacing. Or perhaps they were easier addressed than the lingering grief around them. “But do you want me?”  
  
“Do I desire you? _Sètènman_. Yes.” With gentle pressure she coaxed her body forward again and helped her reheat the cooled wax. “Do you think me so foolish I would not recognise your beauty, Zelda?” She brought the glass jar close and waited until she poured the melted wax into it. “But I do not want you as one wants an object. I lay no claim to your body, though I will gladly worship it.”  
  
She set the jar aside and pulled another one close, attaching the wick before pouring in the remainder of wax.  
  
“I’m not following.”  
  
Zelda’s confusion was true and palpable in the stiffening of her spine, and Marie produced a hum of contemplation before setting aside the second jar. She brought her hands back down and closed them around Zelda’s middle, holding her close despite her protests that the wax would ruin her blouse.  
  
“Sometimes I worry, _chérie_ , that you think of this as a game of chess. You are frightened of making the wrong move.”  
  
“And you are not?” Zelda scoffed, perfectly rigid in her arms.  
  
Marie clicked her tongue. “ _Et voila_! This is not a competition, eh?” She nudged her body into hers and somehow located a spot of skin to kiss on her neck that wasn’t hidden by hair. “Of course I am frightened. Life with a Mambo is not easy. It is rarely private. But I am frightened that you will flee from the potential of our union.”  
  
Zelda scoffed anew but something softened in her posture while she contemplated.After a moment she picked up the thread of conversation. “I do not see what’s wrong with treating it as a game of chess. There are so many unspoken rules, our backgrounds are so different that I must calculate each move carefully."  
  
"No!” Marie disagreed firmly. Her chin came to rest gently on her shoulder once more. “You must only ask me. We are not opponents on either side of the board. We are joint in this endeavour.”  
  
She released her hold and moved her hands over the bowl of wax, turning it into water in seconds. Zelda lowered her own hands into it and washed them until they were clean once more, and while Marie did the same, she began to undo the buttons on her blouse.  
  
“I will have many questions, Marie.”  
  
“And I will answer them as best I can.” Her hands came back to hover at her sides. “May I?”  
  
Waiting until Zelda nodded, she then brushed the blouse over her shoulders, following the path down her arms. Her breath was warm against her neck and her fingers tender as they caressed her waist. Still, Zelda felt, they abandoned her too soon, drifting upwards to unhook her bra which plopped forward into her lap rather unceremoniously. Marie chuckled softly and twisted her hair up and out of the way, placing kiss after kiss on her now exposed neck until Zelda hummed with comfort.  
  
She only broke the contact, so she could pivot around on her knees, facing Marie now. Oh, how clumsy her tongue was rendered by the mere sight of her. But how loudly her hands spoke. Unravelling hair from the constraint of a purple headband. Pulling and tugging at her dress until Marie was nothing but bare, glistening skin before her. A sea of tenderness.  
  
She cupped her cheek and pulled her close, nipping teasingly at those lips that willingly parted and welcomed her closer. A hand found its way to her butt, wiggling the zipper of her skirt until they both parted in laughter, because it refused to budge.  
  
“Perhaps I am a little rusty?” Marie asked, eyes twinkling while Zelda peeled herself out of her last garment. “Or perhaps just impatient.”  
  
She was watching her openly and unabashedly, adoration plainly written on her face.  
  
“I think the latter rings true, my dear,” Zelda said, reigniting the kiss and gently pushing her down onto the mattress until they both disappeared underneath the cover of their soft sheets. She stayed there, half on top, half wrapped around Marie, her head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat.  
  
“May Bondye grant this house peace tonight,” Marie murmured in return, lips skimming the crown of her head, fingers combing through her red curls. And the full moon hung brightly outside their window, as though it, too, was offering its protection.


	8. Chapter 7

Whatever peace they found in each other’s embrace that evening was short lived. Grief and sorrow had settled over the little house like a veil, sometimes so tangible and thick it almost felt impenetrable.  
  
Leroy barely spoke, but he often clung to Zelda’s side with a tenacity that betrayed how lost he otherwise felt. And even though she did not push him to engage with her, she still talked to him as though he might reply and offered comfort through hugs and reassuring squeezes. He avoided Marie with open defiance and ducked away from her touch with a look of disgust which visibly stung the Mambo. It was apparent why, of course. Marie for Leroy was the human embodiment of everything he prayed to. And she had failed to protect Uncle. Grief allowed no room for reason. She remembered that when Edward and Diana had died, the first doubts had started festering in her heart. What was the purpose of praying to the Dark Lord when His protection failed at the most crucial moment? Even Sabrina, little though she was, had posed similar questions, unaware what scandal such considerations could cause.  
  
Kessie, on the other hand, had taken to spending even more time in the presence of her Mambo. This was partially due to Marie’s insistence that she be monitored at all times, lest her recovery suddenly take a similarly sudden turn, but also, Zelda assumed, due to a longing to occupy her mind with practical matters.  
  
For nine long days and nine long nights they carried on with this painful vigil while news of the vaccine slowly spread. It was like a collective holding of breath, as if all eyes were suddenly on clocks and calendars, wondering how much time would pass, how many lives were still going to be lost, before this cure would be rolled out across their neighbourhood.  
  
There was little space for privacy, except for a few stolen hours here and there. Marie would never talk about her own grief and deflect questions with quiet firmness that surprised Zelda, had she always been so open before. But she did not push her either. Not in the middle of the night when Kessie had taken over watch in the backyard. Not when she slipped in like a shadow, eyes bright with unshed tears and bones full of tension. She just held her, rubbed arms and back, and murmured words of encouragement that sometimes brought a smile, sometimes a weary to chuckle to her lips.  
  
It had to suffice, until it didn’t anymore.  
  
Because Marie did not stop. Even when the ninth day had passed and they had all held a ceremony outside to celebrate the complete liberation of Uncle’s soul from his body, she had found more ways to occupy herself. Their walks through the neighbourhood became longer, including more people than ever before. Jonah’s demise had created a small wave of panic and Marie, it seemed, was eager to pursue all cases, even those who only complained about mild symptoms of sickness. She neglected breakfast and sometimes even lunch, could only manage small bites at a time at dinner. And at night she tossed and turned restlessly, unable to be soothed even by Zelda’s careful attempts. Physical decline was soon to follow and when she fell into a fever, Zelda decided that it was rather enough.  
  
She left her on their mattress come morning, but only long enough to slip outside and into the living room where she found Leroy sleeping on the sofa and Kessie awake and in prayer. She waited a beat or two as not to disturb her and then gently touched her shoulder.  
  
“Marie is unwell, and although I know she will want to carry on with her duties, I will not allow it until she has rested.”  
  
Kessie nodded but cast a worried glance in Leroy’s direction. “Does she have…it?”  
  
A flutter of fear twitched uncomfortably in her own stomach. “I don’t know yet. All I can see is that she has exhausted herself and is running a fever.”  
  
“What can I do?”  
  
There was such strength in her jawline, in her shoulders that squared as though to carry anything handed to her. It pained Zelda to observe this weight of responsibility, but it also filled her with pride to find fortitude in such a young woman.  
  
“You have not fully healed yourself. So for the time being perhaps just spread the news that Marie cannot tend to anyone at present. If anyone demonstrates a lack of understanding, point them to me and I will talk sense into them.”  
  
Kessie’s eyes widened and the smallest of smiles played around her lips. “Got it.”  
  
Zelda nodded satisfied, and for a moment permitted a little bit of fondness to enter her eyes. “I realise I am not your Mambo, my dear. But if there is anyone giving _you_ trouble or any responsibility you would rather pass on, do let me know.”  
  
Kessie shrugged and lifted her chin confidently. “I can handle it.”  
  
Zelda laughed and turned and in leaving replied, “One does not exclude the other.”  
  
She did not look at Uncle’s room when she moved through the corridor. The door had stood open since his death, perhaps for practical reasons – why shut down a room in which no one resided? But for Zelda it was nothing more than a gaping reminder of what the children had lost. After all, there were few things worse than an empty space.  
  
Marie was still asleep when she entered, her brow clammy and her features restless. She moved past her to open the window, then fetched a large bowl of water and some of their salves before settling down on the mattress.  
  
“Marie?” She watched her squeeze her eyes shut in silent protest. “Marie.”  
  
Carefully, she cradled her face in her palms and adjusted her position until her head came to rest in her lap.  
  
“How late is it?” Marie’s voice emerged hoarse and tired from deep within her chest, and Zelda cooled her forehead with some of the water before answering.  
  
“Early yet, my dear. But rest your mind, there is nothing for you to tend to today but yourself.”  
  
“You are funny, _chérie_.”  
  
“Oh, I am quite serious,” she insisted, applying gentle pressure to her shoulders when she attempted to sit up. “You have worked yourself into the ground. You are exhausted. You have a fever. I am not certain who you take me for, but I am certainly not going to let you out of my sight.”  
  
Marie’s frown darkened, like clouds drawing together across a stormy sky. “The people are sick.”  
  
“As are you.” She removed the cloth from her forehead, noticed how much it had warmed already, lowered it back into the basin of water and then placed it back on her skin. “So you may argue all you want, my dear. But you are not leaving.”  
  
Marie groaned, exasperated, and tried once more to push up into a sitting position. Soon, though, she surrendered and closed her eyes, falling into fitful slumber. Zelda remained where she was for a few hours, staying as still as she could while smoothing Marie’s hair and offering small, carefully placed kisses onto her skin. She only disentangled herself come dinner time, to check in on the children and to see to food being prepared. She encountered Leroy unresponsive in front of the TV, knees drawn to his chest.  
  
“Have you seen your cousin?”  
  
He didn’t look up at her but stretched out his hand like a babe.  
  
Zelda crossed the room in her stockinged feet and sat down briefly by his side. “I thought we could help her prepare dinner. I am certain we are all hungry.”  
  
He hummed a bit but tethered himself to her arm. She allowed them a few minutes of comfort before putting her palm between his shoulder blades. “Go and start on the rice. I will be right there.”  
  
He didn’t move immediately, but gradually unfurled himself, flicked off the TV and trudged towards the little kitchen corner of the room. Once she was sure that he had settled into the task, she checked the backyard and even Uncle’s room for signs of Kessie but found none. Voices finally drew her outside and to the street and there the girl was, reading to the children of the neighbourhood.  
  
“Kessie!” she called, venturing no further than the front fence without shoes. “Come and join us for dinner.”  
  
She closed the book she was holding and turned, her dark hair falling over her shoulder. “I will finish the chapter.”  
  
“Solely the chapter, my dear, or I will have to come outside again.”  
  
She rolled her eyes at her strict tone but passed her a smile. “Yeah, alright.”  
  
In the kitchen, Leroy had measured out portions of rice and begun preparing the water.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, resting her palm momentarily on his back again. Then she turned and slid vegetables and shrimps out of the refrigerator drawer.  
  
“Please do me another favour and heat up a little bit of that leftover chicken soup for Marie. She won’t have much of an appetite.”  
  
His dark eyes regarded her contemplatively for a moment but he did what she had asked of him without hesitation. Soon the living area filled with the delicious smell of sizzling peppers, onions and courgettes, and the sea food added its own notes to the mix. When Kessie returned and bent over the kitchen sink to wash her hands, plates of food had been assembled at the table. Zelda saw to the drinks before settling down herself.  
  
“How are you feeling?”  
  
“Tired,” Kessie answered immediately. “I kind of underestimated how hard it is to keep a bunch of kids quiet and entertained.” She picked up her cutlery and started digging in, adding with a mouth full of rice and a sidelong look at Leroy, “Though I don’t know why. You were hard enough work.”  
  
Zelda’s lips twitched imperceptibly and had she had a newspaper at her disposal, she might have hidden a full smile behind it.  
  
Leroy, on the other hand, merely rolled his eyes and picked half-heartedly at his food.  
  
“And how are you feeling otherwise?”  
  
Kessie’s eyes slid towards Uncle’s empty room. “Tired still applies the most. Drained. No more sign of the cough.”  
  
“But not fit either, no.” She regarded her pensively. “Perhaps it’s for the best.”  
  
They continued eating in silence for a moment, the unspoken sentiment that everything was uncertain lingering between them.  
  
“And what about you, Leroy? How are you feeling?”  
  
He looked at her with an expression that was as challenging as it was empty and finally just shrugged his shoulders. Zelda permitted his behaviour without a single scolding word but regarded him softly for a while.  
  
“It is always worth inquiring. Even if nothing has changed.”  
  
His eyes avoided hers and slid back to his plate. They didn’t leave it until Zelda and Kessie had finished their meals.  
  
“Now, I better take that soup to Marie. Can I leave you two to tidy up?”  
  
Her stern gaze conveyed that this wasn’t so much a question as a request, and they nodded in agreement while she got up to fetch a bowl.  
  
Marie was awake when she entered the room. She had collected their pillows and arranged them against the wall to be able to sit up better.  
  
“How are you feeling?” She manoeuvred around their makeshift bed and set the food down on a little nightstand.  
  
“Like a grounded child?”  
  
Her eyes may have twinkled with mirth, but Zelda could very well detect the hint of honesty in her words. She hiked up her skirt a little and carefully kneeled down on the mattress.  
  
“Yes, I suspect I would feel much the same. You did have to remind me when all of this started that I wasn’t in fact a prisoner.”  
  
That made the lines around Marie’s eyes crinkle.  
  
“I do not want you to see me like this, Zelda.”  
  
“Truth be told, Marie, I’d much rather see you healthy too. But you over-exerted yourself and you have fallen sick. Now there is nothing to be done about it but rest. Leroy has heated up some food for you. Do try to eat.”  
  
She reached for her hands and squeezed them, concerned to find them icy cold. To her surprise, Marie clicked her tongue impatiently.  
  
“You look at me like I am a withering plant.”  
  
“That is not true.” She reached for the bowl of soup herself now and held it out to Marie, seeing that this would be the only way to get her to eat. “I look at you with worry and fondness.” Once the bowl was securely held by the other, she ran her knuckles along her cheek. “And a modicum of amusement, because you are just as stubborn as I am.”  
  
Marie shot her a sceptical look but thankfully lowered her spoon into the soup.  
  
“Whenever I have felt a little under the weather – so Hilda likes to frequently remind me – I insisted that I was, in fact, perfectly alright. But I am beginning to see now that those who love us do not think us weak.” She paused and plucked at the bed sheets until they were neatly arranged. “All they want is for us to be well again.” She directed her gaze back to Marie. “And you of all people have nothing to fear. You have been a competent, strong leader throughout all of this. It would require rather a lot now to change my opinion of you.”  
  
Marie swallowed a mouthful of soup and met her passionate words with a weary smile. “Are you sure you are talking about me, Zelda? Perhaps it is the Mambo that you see.”  
  
She made an impatient noise that rolled around her mouth and then leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Oh, I see you, my dear. It is you who is uncomfortable with that notion.”  
  
Marie ate a little bit more and finally set the bowl aside. “You are right. You have seen more of me than most of those women for whom this life turned out to be too much or too complicated.”  
  
She moved around, pulling pillows away from the wall, so she could lie down again, and Zelda followed suit, wrapping an arm around her middle. She did not like how desperately cold her limbs were and how, in contrast, the rest of her body was flaring up with heat. Her fingers stroked along soft flesh nonetheless, soothing it in circles and administering kisses to her bare shoulder.  
  
“Will he forgive me, Zelda?”  
  
She looked up and found that even though her eyes were closed, the rest of her face was pulled together in heavy grief.  
  
“Eventually, yes. He will come to see that you could have done nothing else.”  
  
Marie swallowed and salt wept from her eyes and trailed down her cheeks.  
  
She did not look away but held her closer until Marie felt she was done and turned her head towards her.  
  
“Read me more poetry?”  
  
Surprised, Zelda’s eyebrows rose. “If you promise you will try to rest.”  
  
The other woman’s face took on a playfully stormy expression as she glowered up at her. “If you will stop scolding me?”  
  
Zelda laughed and procured her book of poetry. She read more Rilke, suffusing the night with melancholy and hope, recited songs of passion by Catullus and shared Audre Lorde’s beautiful words – a recent discovery - until Marie’s eyes, weary and heavy, finally drifted close and she succumbed to sleep.  
  
She spent several more days like this, drifting in and out of consciousness while fever and chills rattled her body. And although sometimes, in the small hours of morning Zelda was gripped by a terrible fear of losing her like they had lost Uncle, she still made sure to divide her time between everyone who needed her. She took over Marie’s leadership when it came to supervising Kessie, and although she could teach her nothing about Vodou or her heritage, she made herself available to the girl when the burden of all her tasks became too much and she needed respite. She visited the sick and administered healing ointments while informing them about any and all updates regarding the release of the vaccine. And when she wasn’t outside, she spent time with Leroy, offering him company while he read or watched TV or sat outside in the backyard.  
  
It was a difficult time, and she only admired Marie more for her ability to juggle everything with a smile on her face. Though the price she was paying now was certainly not worth it.  
  
After four days when the fever had finally broken and Marie felt strong enough to enjoy a thorough shower, a little package was delivered to the doorstep.  
  
“It’s from Mrs Calhoun,” Kessie announced. She was holding the gift as far away from her body as she could.  
  
“Do you anticipate it might contain the plague?” Zelda questioned, eyeing her and the distance she kept to it with some amusement.  
  
“Why not? Rumour has it she’s cursed half of this neighbourhood before. Now that we are already weakened, she might just want to finish the job.”  
  
Zelda accepted the package at last and was surprised to find it fairly heavy. “Well, I certainly don’t doubt that. She strikes me as quite the type to revel in a good hex.”  
  
“Oh, I know the kind!” Marie announced, who was emerging from the bathroom at that moment. Her eyes twinkled. She had lost some weight and was visibly frail on her feet, but her spirit was starting to return.  
  
“Whatever are you talking about?” Zelda questioned, playing along, and then left Kessie to walk back to their bedroom.  
  
She could hear Mambo and mentee exchange a few words but left them the privacy, knowing just how much they cherished their bond. While they were occupied, she used the opportunity to tidy up the room. She opened the window wide to let some of the thick, humid air drift inside, changed the bed linen and applied a cleansing spell to chase the lingering whispers of fever and disease out of the room. She became so invested in the task that she only noticed Marie’s presence when her arms gingerly caught her around her waist.  
  
“Have you been resting enough, Zelda?” she whispered teasingly against her neck.  
  
Her tender, light ministrations were almost enough to steal her breath, so when she spoke her voice had acquired a rather hoarse quality. “I won’t deny that I am growing tired. You were certainly correct in saying that this is a task that ought to be shared.” She turned around in her arms and regarded her warmly. “And I have missed having you by my side.”  
  
Marie’s hand caressed tenderly over her hips and waist, and she, too, took a moment just to look at her. “That is surprising, _chérie_. It feels as if you never left me. You cooled my skin, you rubbed salve into my chest, you read to me-“  
  
Zelda cut her off then with a sharp click of the tongue. “I cared for you when you were ill. It is hardly an astonishing feat.”  
  
“Perhaps not for you, eh?”  
  
Astounded by the implications, Zelda leaned in. She cupped her cheek and held her longing in her palm, cradled it with utmost care and softly kissed loneliness from eyes and nose and mouth until a smile blossomed in its stead.  
  
“Now, I am dying to know what is in the package.” She had to pause to catch her breath. “You too, _n’est-ce pas_? You are a curious woman?”  
  
Zelda laughed and endured the teasing and sank down on the mattress with Marie, the mysterious box between them. Marie did the honour of opening it, laughing once but loudly in a way that made Zelda scoot closer so she could bend over the contents.  
  
“Whiskey and cigars?” she questioned.  
  
Marie laughed again and lifted the items out. “It _is_ from Mrs Calhoun.”  
  
“And perhaps it is worth it for the splash of colour on your cheeks alone.”  
  
She swatted her hand away. “Stop fretting, eh? I did not look like death before.”  
  
“Are you so certain of that?” Zelda captured her hand before it could withdraw and raised it to her lips. She was no longer scared that Marie might see the depth of her tenderness.  
  
“Ease your mind, _chérie_. The worst is over.” She moved away long enough to pick up one of the cigars. “Now, have you ever smoked one of these?”  
  
Zelda laughed and brought it close to her nose to inhale the blend of tobacco.  
  
“In fact I have. Though I much prefer the elegance of a cigarette or cigarillo."  
  
“The elegance?”  
  
Marie laughed again, set the bottle of whiskey and the other cigar aside to settle back down into the mattress. Her long legs weaved in and out of the sheets like a tapestry of colour and Zelda found her thoughts stalling for a moment.  
  
“A cigarette is just a cigarette until you make smoking it look like an art.” She carefully arranged herself next to Marie and started running her hand through her still damp hair. “I certainly viewed it as an art when I set out to smoke my first cigar. All the warlocks were doing it in their own special club. Edward, my brother, sometimes tolerated my presence and so it was natural that when I joined them, I smoked a cigar also.”  
  
“But you did not like it?” Marie’s features were slowly relaxing, her eyes struggling to remain open.  
  
“Oh, I did not mind. Some of them taste divine. But on the whole they’re too-“  
  
“Masculine?”  
  
She laughed and stole a small kiss before Marie drifted back off to sleep.  
  
“Goodnight, my dear.”  
  
  
The Louisiana days turned hotter yet, making it unbearable indoors and outside. Buoyed by the promise of a vaccine, many citizens of New Orleans ignored the lockdown rules and mingled near the edges of the great Mississippi where the slightest of breezes cooled their skin from time to time. In the 9th ward, it was only the Mambo’s stern warning that held most people inside. But it was a silent understanding that even that might not restrain them for much longer.  
  
“We only notice what we have taken for granted when it’s become limited or been taken away,” Marie said.  
  
They had sought refuge in the backyard, in the sparse shadow the sole large tree was offering. It had become quite the regular hideout since her fever had broken and she had developed the bloody cough. Zelda looked up from her book and gave her a questioning look.  
  
“Freedom,” Marie elaborated. “How much freedom we actually have.”  
  
She put her book aside and for a moment watched their bare feet both firmly settled in the earth as though it were sand at the beach. Dark and pale, nails painted in the deepest ruby red.  
  
“Yes, quite. Even I have come to re-evaluate which of my privileges are truly necessary and which I might do without.”  
  
“Do enlighten me, sister Zelda,” Marie quipped lightly and nudged her body into hers. The action whirled dust of the ground and momentarily made her body contract underneath a violent cough. Zelda caressed her back throughout and waited until she had finished wiping her lips with a handkerchief.  
  
“I hardly think it necessary. You will have learned many of those lessons before.”  
  
Marie smiled at her and for a brief while rested her tired head on her shoulder. The warmth of her skin was wonderfully palpable through the thin fabric of her white blouse, and Zelda caught herself once more trying to commit every touch, every sensation to memory.  
  
“Marie?” she murmured. A name that disappeared somewhere between the shell of her ear and the first thick strands of hair.  
  
“ _Wi_ , _chérie_?”  
  
“There is something I have been meaning to speak to you about.”  
  
Immediately, she lifted her head to look at her directly. Despite the initial appearance of calm, Zelda had learned to locate the small nuances of fear or concern.  
  
“I can assure you there is nothing to worry about.”  
  
She was just beginning to elaborate when she noticed Marie’s gaze darting towards the backdoor of the house and when she followed it, she saw that Leroy was standing there watching them.  
  
“Has something happened, _gason_?” Marie called, straightening. One hand immediately reached out towards him.  
  
Slowly, the child approached with a hesitation more akin to embarrassment. He had not spoken a word to his Mambo since his uncle had died.  
  
“I will give you a moment of privacy,” Zelda automatically murmured and disentangled herself. Her hand squeezed Leroy’s shoulder as their paths crossed in the backyard.  
  
Cold slipped underneath her skin like a breeze that whispered of winter.  
  
“Father Douwry has returned. He has brought the vaccine.”  
  
She shivered and paused in the doorway.  
  
“You are going to be okay.”  
  
_Small, pale faces were peering up at her from the shadows. The shelter was like a maze of corridors, haunted by an icy breeze.  
  
“The boy has been told to wait here for you.”  
  
She could remember his face but not the nurse’s. The way his eyes met hers with hope and then died altogether.  
  
“I’m so sorry.”  
  
“No, you’re not. You’re a liar! You said he would be alright! You promised!”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, you’re not. You’re a liar and you are weak.”  
  
_“I was always going to be okay, Leroy. Don’t worry your head, eh?”  
  
It took a while before she could trust her eyes to look at them. It was a little bit like staring directly into the sun. A little too strong, a little too bright.  
  
Forgiveness whispered in an embrace that lasted and lasted. Words exchanged in a language she did not yet fully understand. But she could read the change in Marie and knew that, perhaps, she was truly going to be mended.  
  
While they continued talking, she drifted through the house, not quite able to occupy herself with anything successfully. Her hands were jittery at her side and her thoughts restless. She barely heard Marie when she approached.  
  
“Let’s go for a walk, chérie?” She felt her hand on the small of her back and turned, but Marie continued before she had a chance to speak. “And no excuses. I am capable of walking.”  
  
She chose to ignore Zelda’s sceptical look.  
  
“Oh, very well. There is no sense in arguing with you. But before you become too smug, my dear, there is one condition.”  
  
“You are bargaining with a Haitian woman, Zelda?” Marie asked, amusement written in the corners of her mouth. “You have some courage.”  
  
“Oh, it’s quite simple, really. If you want the pleasure of my company, of course?”  
  
Marie laughed at that and shook her head. “You are quite the woman.”  
  
Zelda’s own lips twitched, but she did not succumb to laughter yet and instead walked into their room to fetch shoes, hat and a parasol.  
  
“You are intent on tormenting me, eh? With that thing, I will be the laughingstock of the neighbourhood!” Marie protested while slipping into her sandals.  
  
“I am intent on looking after you. We will only walk a little round and you will shield yourself from the sun.” She placed the wide-brimmed hat on her own head. “The vaccine might be within reach, but I’ll be damned if I let you take any risks now.”  
  
Marie linked one arm with hers and leaned in closely when they finally started to walk. Outside and in the middle of the street the heat was even worse than it had been in the backyard. The pavement seemed to magnify the sun and wordlessly they both began steering towards the slender arm of the river at which they had shared their first kiss.  
  
“It must be sobering to hear that that priest has somehow found access to the vaccine.”  
  
Marie’s face became thoughtful and her lips worked for a moment without any words forthcoming.  
  
“I am relieved that many lives will be saved. But it would be a lie to say that I am not…” She considered carefully. “Angered. But,” she paused again and rubbed Zelda’s arm, leaning even more into her, “I have taken note of your words. He may bring the cure, but the people know who was there in their hour of need. That’s enough.”  
  
Zelda offered her a warm smile in return and stopped walking, so that they could gaze across the river and to the ward beyond.  
  
“You accept change with greater grace than I ever will, my dear.”  
  
Marie shrugged and adjusted the umbrella in her left hand. “It is a work in progress.” She looked at her, pensively and finally asked, “You are leaving, _non_?”  
  
“Did the spirits tell you?” Zelda quipped lightly. “Or your intuition?”  
  
“Why ruin the mystery when it was curiosity that brought you to me?”  
  
Behind the twinkle in her eyes, she detected hues of sadness. It was difficult to make out what exactly she was thinking.  
  
“I will leave only when I know that you have fully recovered, Marie.”  
  
“You have not yet told Hilda then?”  
  
Zelda considered that particular scenario and rolled her eyes. “No. Or she might start to relax.”  
  
“Every leader has to once in a while.” Her lips ghosted along her ear and finally nipped at her lobe. “Is that not what you taught me?”  
  
“You hardly know my sister. Even as we speak her idea of leadership might look like braiding each other’s hair and singing songs of peace over a campfire.”  
  
Marie fought against laughter. “And would that be so bad?”  
  
“It’s saccharin.”  
  
“Like reading poetry?”  
  
Clicking her tongue, Zelda tilted her head towards Marie and silenced her swiftly with a kiss. Their noses brushed against each other more and more as their need turned them clumsy. And had Marie’s sigh not been accompanied by a breathless inhalation, Zelda would only too gladly have discovered what other sounds she could coax from her throat.  
  
“Marie,” she began, her voice hoarse and thick, carrying the slightest tremor of nervousness. “If it is all the same to you, I would not like our relationship to conclude here.”  
  
She gave her a moment to cough, her hand refusing to settle at her side. When Marie emerged from her handkerchief, she seemed relieved. Hope truly looked beautiful in her eyes.  
  
“ _Merveilleux_! Because I was not planning on letting you get away so easily.”  
  
Their lips met again, softer this time and more searching.  
  
“Of course, I cannot promise with certainty when I can come to visit you again.”  
  
Marie waved her hand, some optimism returning to her spirt. “We will find a way.”  
  
They looked back over the river.  
  
“Bondye has made certain our paths cross for a reason. You are a part of my community now.”  
  
“And you of mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- thanks for your support so far, I will finish the epilogue as soon as possible  
> \- and do check out Audre Lorde's remarkable poetry! "On a Night of the Full Moon" applies particularly to these two


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- this chapter is M-rated and contains smut  
> \- sorry this took me so long to complete. I'm happy to finish it, but maybe somewhere I wasn't ready yet to let go  
> \- thanks to everyone who left kudos/likes and comments. But especially to ZeldaByrdeBishop whose enthusiasm has been EVERYTHING to me <3 and to paradox who not only was there to discuss Vodou and headcanons, but who also provided me with really great bits of research, who wrote me essays when I needed them the most and who has been absolutely invaluable in so many ways

A crowd had already assembled around the little house in the 9th ward by the time Zelda approached. A year had passed since she had last walked down this street littered with potholes, but very little had changed. For a moment, she stopped in the blazing heat underneath the pristine blue sky, pulled out her pocket mirror and regarded her face. A touch up of lipstick would certainly not go amiss. This was an important ceremony, after all. She carefully ignored that she had wasted over an hour on make-up and hair before setting off from her rented apartment, that she had for days given few things more consideration than the colours she would be wearing. With a final nod at her reflection, she stashed mirror and lipstick away once more and advanced towards the crowd.   
  
The Rite of Reclamation, Zelda had learned, was a ceremony that took place a year and a day after the deceased’s soul had been freed from its ties to the body. Marie as Mambo would be granted the privilege of transferring the soul into a _govi_ , a clay jar, to later on be destroyed in a special ritual. Jonah’s soul would then be free to join its community of ancestral spirits and to enter the body of a family or friend, strengthening those who remained. Naturally, it was a cause for great celebration and joy, as well as a reason to come together and remember the life of a beloved neighbour.   
  
Zelda considered it an honour to have been invited, had felt so moved, in fact, when Leroy had asked her that Sabrina had caught her dabbing at her eyes. Mirror calls to New Orleans had become quite the regularity in the Spellman house, and packages and parcels flew out of its doors too destined for the south. Still, she could feel her pulse fluttering with nerves as she confidently pushed her way through the mass of people. Yearning for Marie and a desire to ensure Leroy’s well-being were inhabiting her in equal measure. The front door of the house seemed to remain firmly locked and while the chorus of voices whispered excitedly around her, Zelda lifted her hand to knock. The face that answered the door belonged to no-one she knew, and with a raised eyebrow she acknowledged that even inside the house a throng had accumulated. She attempted twice to push through them but was always firmly but politely stopped, and someone eventually informed her that they had been waiting since before dawn for the privilege of being nearest to the Mambo.   
  
The childish urge to roll her eyes came and passed and was finally forgotten altogether when a tall, gangly boy appeared in the middle of foreign faces. His hair had grown out even longer since their last mirror call.   
  
“You’re late.”   
  
“Yes, thank you, Leroy. I wasn’t aware that entry would be quite so difficult.”   
  
He looked at the people that surrounded them and shrugged with a cheeky grin. “That’s your own fault. I did tell you to come early.”   
  
“How are you?” She smoothly deflected. “You look well.”   
  
_Tall_ was the word she was looking for. _Grown up_. But neither would have made it passed her lips, too constricted would her throat have been.   
  
“It’s a good day today,” he agreed with a smile, looking at all the people once more. “My family is here. My ancestors are watching.”   
  
With a little bit of his old awkwardness, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug which Zelda returned with quiet fondness.   
  
“You make them proud, my dear.”   
  
He laughed and disentangled himself, rubbing at the back of his neck with some shyness. She would have teased him then, just a little bit, to save him from the uncomfortable feeling, but a hush suddenly descended over the house. It affected the crowd outside too, for any sound appeared to cease entirely. She felt her before she saw her, Mambo Marie LaFleur, dressed in rich, strong colours, donning a headwrap of pure burgundy. She was emanating an aura of peace and confidence, and in her eyes there was only kindness. When the moment of awe had passed and the crowd had started to form a corridor of space to let her through, chants started to rise up, singing of worship and adoration, and Zelda watched, rooted to the spot as Marie made her way through them all, the _govi_ held up high in the air. Their eyes met briefly and her smile broadened, but then her attention returned to her duties, as she joined the chants and proceeded outside. Kessie was walking directly behind her, her head held high, her clothes matching that of her Mambo, and the crowd paid her the same respect, allowing her room to walk.   
  
“Come,” Leroy said, tugging at her hand and propelling her into motion.   
  
“Where are we going?” Zelda was squashed between the surging bodies of the people, pulled along as if by a current.   
  
“The _govi_ will be broken at the edge of the river, at the crossroads of land and water.”   
  
Something rose up inside her then and settled. It wasn’t quite peace, but it was a kind of calm she hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind of calm one felt when being watched over. And it was evident to her that Hecate or perhaps even Bondye were extending protection around them all. So she allowed herself to be swept up by the colourful procession that danced and pushed its way to the shore of the Mississippi amidst a chorus of voices and the beating of drums. She was there when the clay jar was broken and Jonah’s soul freed to join the ancestors, felt the collective hush, the gasp of elation that followed. And she thought of Edward, saw him in the faces of strangers, smiling and at ease until a little bit of darkness, of bitterness lifted.   
  
“Are you crying?” Leroy asked, looking at her, his nose scrunched up, the picture of puzzlement.   
  
“Allergy season,” she deflected, dabbing at her eyes. But the boy’s scrutiny did not let up.   
  
“You’re still a bad liar. It’s okay to cry. I cried too when I realised that I had arrived.”   
  
His palm found its way between her shoulder blades like a comfort or a strength, and for just a second Zelda wondered if it really mattered here in this sea of people where her tears were just another drop to be enveloped and carried. They stood side by side while the ceremony wound towards its end, the Mississippi a glistening backdrop to the spectacle.   
  
“Leroy!” Kessie’s voice emerged from somewhere and after a little bit of searching Zelda could locate her, beckoning him forward.   
  
“Join them,” she told him, sharing a brief smile with the girl who had grown so much as well. There would be time enough to check in with them later, and with Mrs Calhoun whose robustness was keeping her steadily in good health.   
  
On her own, she meandered along the edge of the river, exchanging a couple of words with those who recognised her. For the most part, she was content to just be, but her treacherous heart whispered words of longing from time to time. Marie had been entirely swallowed up, nowhere to be glimpsed or spotted, though the wind sometimes carried the sound of her voice.   
  
Morning had advanced into afternoon when finally they came face to face, and the Mambo looked pleased and fulfilled.   
  
“High Priestess Zelda Spellman!” she called to her, striding along the river. Her dark eyes were dancing with excitement and Zelda’s heart gave a start. “You aren’t sneaking off, eh?”   
  
She laughed and bridged the final two steps towards her, eyes sliding to her lips, hunger melting decorum.   
  
“I would hardly succeed,” she replied, gesturing at the people that were strewn everywhere. Her features softened. “It is wonderful to see you again.”   
  
Marie’s smile grew bigger still, and she boldly pecked her lips in greeting.   
  
“You bring stormy weather from the north, _chérie_ ,” she remarked when they had parted, pointing at the sky which was growing darker in the distance. “That is a compliment, we need the rain. So still that clever tongue.”   
  
Zelda laughed. “Your ceremony was particularly rousing, Marie. And the outpouring of love-“ She paused, her voice a little thick. “I am pleased to see that you remained correct. The children are held warmly in their community.”   
  
“Of which you are a part. Yes?”  
  
“Yes, Marie, “Zelda laughed. “I have learned my lesson.”   
  
“Merveilleux!” She cast a glance over her shoulder and briefly hesitated.   
  
“Go,” Zelda encouraged her, squeezing her arm. “I know they have waited for you.”   
  
Marie sighed and pecked her lips again. “And I have waited for _you_ , _chérie_.”   
  
“Soon,” Zelda promised against her lips. “I will be here when you are ready.”   
  
It wasn’t until late afternoon that the two of them finally had the chance to be alone, and they seized it with both hands, hurrying all the way back to Marie’s apartment under the threatening dense clouds that ached with rain. They moved into the shelter of the shop when the first rumbles of thunder resounded in the distance. The air inside was warm and thick, rich with the scent of dried herbs and incense.   
  
“We will be more comfortable upstairs. And there is a treat waiting for you too.”   
  
Zelda followed her to the stairs but captured her wrist lightly before she could begin walking up. “A treat, Marie? You do know just how to entice a lady.”   
  
“It is easily enough done when you make your cravings so apparent.”   
  
Zelda laughed and followed her up, past the scarf that doubled as a partition and towards another sofa which stood directly underneath the window. The space forked off into a number of other small rooms, but Marie retreated only as far as the open plan kitchen from which she returned a moment later carrying a small tray.   
  
“Beignets and Whiskey,” Zelda commented, amusement growing on her face. “You do know me well, my dear.”   
  
At that, the other woman laughed and sank comfortably into a large old armchair. She placed the tray on a round table between them and then stretched out her legs until her feet came to rest on the end of the sofa.   
  
“Mrs Calhoun’s Whiskey.”   
  
“How appropriate.”   
  
Zelda left her to recline and poured each of them a little glass. She lifted hers to her lips but paused before drinking. _To mortality_ , she thought.   
  
“To family,” Marie said.   
  
The spirit ran pleasurably down her throat, a little coarse, a little sharp. Wonderfully sweetened by a bite of beignet. And behind her, thunder rumbled anew while wind drove little drops of rain against the window. Marie’s eyes lingered on her, she could tell, but after a year of distance it took her a while to meet that gaze with confidence. Minds could change. Passions could cool. She knew too little about love to predict its course.   
  
“Are you frightened, Zelda?”   
  
She tilted her chin upwards proudly but clenched her teeth around words of denial. It took a moment to remember again that here she did not have to lie or embellish.   
  
“Yes. I wonder what you find when you look at me.”   
  
Marie’s eyes crinkled and warmth emanated from them immediately. “I find everything that I have missed, _chérie_.” She set her own glass of Whiskey down, withdrew her legs and smoothly slid onto her knees. “Your spirit and wit. But also everything else,” she paused and carefully slipped one stiletto from her foot. “Your strong ankles.” She brushed her mouth over them. “The curve of your calf.” She caught herself mid-touch and looked up at Zelda, locating affirmation in her parted lips and expectant gaze. “And everything else I am yet to discover.”   
  
With a playful grin, she hoisted up her leg and dove under her skirt to kiss around the hollow of her knee. Zelda could feel the heat of her mouth, could sense it creeping higher towards her squirming thighs. And almost instinctively her own hand reached down to cup or hold close, fingers fumbling around edges of clothing, finally finding stability against her shoulder. Directly underneath her, the marvellous tower of Marie’s hair.   
  
It was rarely surprising for Zelda to be wanted, but after several flirtations and an entire year of abstinence, Marie’s open desire shook her. But just as she was about to lose herself entirely, a little snort and a giggle emerged from somewhere between her thighs.   
  
“I am stuck, Zelda.”  
  
She tilted her head, this time to actually see past the mist of want and realised Marie’s conundrum. The tight fabric of her pencil skirt was perfect to hug the curves of her body, but it allowed little space for bold exploration. But what might have proven embarrassing for some, her lover was only too happy to shrug off with a laugh while she carefully disentangled herself.   
  
Zelda regarded her dishevelled state with warm affection and leaned forward to caress her flushed cheeks.   
  
“What is this, eh?” Marie immediately teased her lightly. “Zelda Spellman is not scandalised?”   
  
She let her lips betray her amusement. “By what precisely would you think me scandalised, my dear?”   
  
She considered her words for a moment while tilting her head slightly from side to side. “I did not think you would consider laughter belonging in the bedroom.” She looked at her for another moment longer and then pushed up to steal a small kiss. “Maybe I was doing you an injustice.”   
  
Zelda prolonged the contact immediately, igniting under every brush of mouth against mouth. The importance of answering anything at all escaped her for a bit.   
  
“Well,” she did finally begin when both of them needed a moment to catch their breath, “I cannot say that there has ever been much humour in carnal pleasures. But I can see no harm in it now. Perhaps that is merely the effect you have on me, however.”   
  
“Is that a true compliment, _chérie_? Or a backhanded one?” With a grin she reached up and swiftly undid the topmost button on her blouse.   
  
“Have I not already said that I would sing your prayers morning, noon and night, darling?” Zelda asked in return and rose from her position on the sofa.   
  
She gently stopped Marie from opening her blouse further and instead proceeded to carefully unfurl her headwrap which had got in disarray after her recent excursion. She found a suitably secure place for it before allowing herself the leisure to run her fingers through her now fully exposed hair. There were questions in Marie’s eyes, she could see, questions of tenderness, not of doubt, and Zelda vowed to answer them with hands and lips. Holding her eyes, she lowered herself onto her knees and buried her face against the soft expanse of her exposed belly. She kissed her there where energies flowed most potently and felt encouraged by each sigh of contentment.   
  
Marie was the one who volunteered to pull her top off, and while she did so, Zelda remained resting against her, her fingers a little shaky as she sought to undo her own blouse completely. With every fresh kiss she pressed to her skin, she silently thanked her for her kindness and patience, for her strength and unwavering spirit. Her arms wrapped around her completely, enveloped her, for to lean on her meant to hold her upright too. She felt the proud line of her back, and held it in her palms, looked up at her to find her smiling back in return. Marie encouraged her wordlessly but with a shameless forward arch of her body when her fingers drifted along the edges of her bra. And when it was finally unclasped and toppled forward, falling neatly onto Zelda’s head, they both laughed.   
  
How easily that sound could have been a sob. Years ago, in a different place.   
  
“You are divine,” Zelda told her when they had recovered, moisture still glistening in her eyes. She was looking past it, studying the strong outline of her muscles and, above, the becoming roundness of her breasts. A prayer to her beauty, to her confidence spoken out loud.   
  
Marie was glad to hear it and to accept, her voluminous hair framing her finely cut, smiling face.   
  
“You are too, _chérie_. I only wish you would let me touch you.”   
  
Curious fingers found their way to her shoulder and tugged playfully on the lingering fabric of her blouse.   
  
“Mmh,” Zelda hummed against her belly, eyes drifting closed, “all in due course.”   
  
“I am not a patient woman, Zelda,” Marie quipped, though her fingers did not proceed to pry. “Especially when all you seem to want is to tease.”   
  
“Well, now I will hardly move faster.”   
  
She steadied herself against her once more and ventured higher, tasting the trail of salt that brought her up between her breasts. Each quiver more delectable than the last.   
  
“ _Tanpri_ , _chérie,_ ” Marie groaned. “Touch me.”   
  
Zelda’s laughter disappeared against her skin, but she obliged without protest and eagerly took her right breast into her mouth. She relished the weight of it and the feel, the way Marie responded and grasped for her, and only when she was satisfied with it, she ran her tongue once slowly over her nipple. The shudder and moan this prompted was worth committing to memory, and even worthier pursuing again. It pleased her to feel it stiffen against her lips, how hard and swollen it became. And while desire pulled and whined at the junction of her own thighs, she moved on to her other breast. She licked and sucked, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, until the sounds Marie was producing started to grow higher and less coherent. She let her rock into her, her body always in motion and never still. Alive in prayer as in intimacy and too comfortable to hide any of it.   
  
Zelda treated her nipple to one, final lick and then briefly shifted her attention to pulling down her skirt. The elastic band relented swiftly to her tug, and she admired hips and thighs and every bit of skin as it was revealed to her. She pressed her face back against her, lower this time, so that her hot breath washed over her most sensitive parts. Inhaling the scent of her arousal through her panties made her moan darkly, and coaxed her into teasingly nipping at her. Immediately, Marie’s fingers grasped at her more firmly and when she glanced up, she could see that she had thrown her head into her neck. The exposed line of her throat was marvellously inviting, but it was her sudden silence that cried out the loudest.   
  
Slowly, Zelda pulled her panties downwards and hungrily flattened her tongue against her, applying pressure until she could hold the taste of her in her mouth. Her own moans tumbled from her throat and with carefully placed licks, she encouraged Marie to let their voices mingle until they both drowned out the rain entirely. Sweat was collecting between her shoulder blades, while she attentively studied which spots were the most sensitive and what pace was likely to bring Marie to ecstasy. She took her cues from sharp inhalations and tell-tale tremors and even from the frantic rise and fall of her chest when she had a moment to look up and observe. Only once did she give in to curiosity and slid her finger through the valley of her wet and swollen labia, the sensation nearly enough to make her come undone. Instead, she licked over her, altering the intensity to which she treated her clit until Marie was crying out on shaking legs, cursing in one then thanking Bondye in the next breath. Her body rocked faster and less rhythmically and Zelda could feel her coil and tense before she shuddered underneath her release. She, too, was breathing heavily by now, but held her enveloped, and soothed with small kisses the damp landscape of her skin where arousal and sweat had mingled.   
  
“Zelda.” Her name emerged between frantic, fluttering breaths, and she looked up to meet her eyes. Eyes that were dark and warm and smouldering, alight with pleasure and something else. Where further words escaped her, she lowered her hand into her hair. Not to tug or to pull but to caress the red strands. “You are something else.”   
  
“I am glad you found me adequate enough,” Zelda quipped and immediately earned a stern click of the tongue.   
  
“You nearly brought me to my knees, _chérie_.”  
  
Marie’s hands cupped her face and gently beckoned her to rise so they could share a kiss. Cooling want whispered from lips to lips.   
  
"I need to open the window, I can barely breathe in here,” Marie chuckled and rounded the sofa while Zelda moved back to it to recline there, her own legs a little bit unsteady. She lit a cigarette as the first rain-washed breeze rushed inside and blew the white smoke out and up towards the ceiling where it quickly suffused.   
  
“You are so extravagant,” Marie remarked, laughing. She placed a kiss on the crown of her head while rounding the sofa and then settled at her feet.   
  
“Because I’m having a smoke?” Zelda questioned between drags.   
  
“Because you are smoking while looking like that, _chérie_.” She clicked her tongue. “You know precisely what you are doing.” Her dark eyes roamed over her body once more, from her outstretched legs, to pale skin exposed under an opened blouse, to red hair spilling all over the back of the sofa, dishevelled and wild. “And the cigarette is for afterwards, _n’est-ce pas_?” She leaned over her and reached around to tug down the zipper of her skirt.   
  
“Isn’t afterwards now?”  
  
Marie rewarded her playful grin with a shake of the head and slowly pulled the skirt lower and lower until thighs and legs were bared. “I do not run out of steam so easily, Zelda.”   
  
Her lips were already travelling up her legs and, unhindered by clothing, they were now free to explore and roam. Nipping along the inside of her thigh, finding the birth mark hidden away in the hollow of her left knee. Turning pale flesh flushed with colour. Zelda closed her eyes and blew a last bit of smoke upwards. In her ears she could hear her own heartbeat pounding, fast and hard, but not quite so frantic as the rain that drummed against the window, that threatened to spill inside.   
  
“ _Chérie_?” She felt Marie’s weight shift against her and opened her eyes again when her soft lips moved over her cheeks, over her chin. “Are you with me?”   
  
She was regarding her with such concern that Zelda immediately felt prompted into action.   
  
“Yes, darling. Don’t worry. I was merely enjoying myself.”   
  
Finding truth in her words, Marie’s features relaxed into a smile once more and her eyes took on a mischievous expression.   
  
“In that case...”   
  
She hooked her index finger around the front of her bra and with a magical tug removed it entirely, exposing her left breast while leaving her right barely covered by the fabric of her blouse, her nipple visibly stiff. Her mouth whispered promises against hers and then her head dove between her breasts, kissing, licking, sometimes biting. It felt like worship, Zelda thought, losing herself once more. And she did not deny her her own sounds of pleasure.   
  
Heat rose between them, making their skin stick together as though it could not tolerate a moment’s worth of separation. And so they stayed melted into one, fingers grasping, turned clumsy by their need. Somehow the last pieces of clothing were discarded, painting their own colourful picture on the floor. All the while Marie remained straddling her hips, her hands resting on her stomach, fingers splayed wide. She was holding her in her eyes with a look of fire and only slowly she bent her head to capture her lips. The action made her core rock against Zelda’s, warmth devouring warmth, and she quivered. A dark moan cracked from her throat.   
  
“I will love you now,” Marie murmured, all strength and adoration, and her hand slid down between their bodies until it palmed her.   
  
Zelda liked being held so firmly, found herself pulsing with need at the pressure her grasp exerted on her clit. It was her thumb that parted her first, as it slid lower through her wetness. Aware of every tremor, of the slightest tensing.   
  
“Remember to breathe, _chérie_.”   
  
Zelda’s forehead broke into a frown but scolding consonants melted into mewling vowels, as she felt her thumb slide upwards again, felt its pad circling around her clit. She groaned; her ass clenched as she bucked upwards. And still that thumb kept teasing her. It was only when she gasped against Marie’s mouth that it stopped, and she found the opportunity to move her own hand between them to cup her. She felt her breath hitch and waited, waited until she began exploring her again, so she could mirror the action. Fingers feeling, slipping, flicking. Applying pressure. Curling, at last, sinking deep into each other. Tasting a shared moan that was oh so divine.   
  
They rocked and rocked, discovered a rhythm. Skin, sticking and unsticking. Growing frantic. Heat pooling low, then rising. Like a wall or a wave. No, like energy, like becoming. Falling through ecstasy. The air thick with ragged breathing, wet fingers entangled in coarse hair. Envelopment. A space for sweetness and for salt. Eyes that wept with affection.   
  
“I know, _chérie_. I know.”   
  
And outside, the rain had stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Zelda was trying to make a choice between softer Rada colours or strong ones of the Petro she knows Marie favours  
> \- "To mortality" is a nod to Mrs Calhoun

**Author's Note:**

> \- of course I picture Zelda being affected by witnessing the Spanish Flu, but I also picture her as being very robust outwardly in dealing with the sick  
> \- gason = haitian creole for "boy"  
> \- updates will be slow but steady; I know what I'm doing but I need to take my time to get it as right as I possibly can.  
> \- if the Latin title is wrong, as always, please do let me know and I'll change it


End file.
